The Reason for Living
by AvaFyre
Summary: Life has always been a dull wash of gray. A never-ending series of repetition, and an exhausting and frankly boring game. Cyrna Raine simply exists, her own lack of sympathy drawing shut the blinds between her and the rest of the world. When death approaches, she accepts it with open arms, but that is not to be, for by some twisted fate, she receives a second chance to live.
1. The Game Called Life

**Prologue**

The last things I remembered were the blinding headlights of a car, the screeching of tires as it attempted to halt, then finally, a moment of excruciating pain.

People say that you reminisce in your final moments of life. I found that to be untrue, but then again, I didn't have the luxury of time to do so. I had no issues with that, after all, I had always believed that a swift death was the best way to die.

Morbid, I know, but when you live in a world of relentless repetition where everyone seems programmed to do the same sort of thing—do well in school, go to college, get a job, earn money, settle down and start a family—life becomes dull, dull enough to contemplate about the twisted game called "life" where hard work means nothing in the face of true genius and where some people's efforts are rewarded while others efforts are ignored.

 _Life is not fair_.

A statement I found to be very true when I saw my friend, who had worked much harder and much more passionately, fail at an exam that I had passed with relatively little studying. Then again, there were always those one or two students who seemed to excel without needing to open their textbooks during their whole college life—a feat that I could never dream of accomplishing.

Intelligence, success, good relationships, and a happy family. One would say that I should want for nothing more.

But I did.

The intelligence that had paved a road for a successful future, friends who would lend a helping hand whenever I was in difficulty, a family that always stood by me… but I don't think I could say that I was happy.

… and now when I think about it…

Perhaps Life, in its own twisted way, _was fair_.

I wasn't an emotionless person. It was just that I simply lacked the basic sympathy required for a human to be normal. Of course, I never acted coldly towards other people, but that was because I was able to reason out how I should act in certain circumstances.

A comforting touch on the arm at times of distress. A hug. A gentle pat on the back when the person was sad. A smile. Offering to help whenever your friend was in trouble. Saying caring words…

There is a list of things that I could go on and on about the actions that I had mastered in order to blend in with society. _Mastered, but never felt_.

And suffice to say, the issue with a lack of sympathy is that it isolates you. Not physically. But emotionally.

I think I could have owned the world, and still I would not have been happy. There was only so much joy that material objects could give to me; without sympathy, I could form no bonds with others—I simply had no attachment to the world.

And so I went on with my life. Days turned to years as they blurred together, and somewhere along the line, I realized that while I _existed_ , I had stopped _living_. The days started and ended like clockwork and life became a dull, tedious game I was forced to partake in. I never thought of ending it, but I did question the reason of my existence.

So, I can honestly say that it was with great relief when I felt darkness settle into my vision as I relaxed and prepared myself for the embrace of death.

That embrace never came.

 **Chapter 1: The Game Called Life**

The sounds of a nearby trickling stream and the soft melodic trills of birds could be heard. The gentle breeze rustling through the woods and the morning rays creating pools of light on the leaves-covered ground gave an ephemeral air to the forest. Many villagers who lived near here had always claimed that there was something _magical_ about it—and they were not wrong. For there was indeed magic at play.

However, on this seemingly peaceful summer day, the beauty of the forest was marred by the broken, emaciated form of what should have been a fair-skinned child. The child's body was mottled with bruises and her raven-coloured hair, filthy and disheveled, hid her face.

More important was that she had been dead, at least until a few moments ago.

Suddenly the child's chest lifted, and the unsteady rasping sound of a sharp intake of breath could be heard.

o - o - o - o - o

 _Once once upon a time she remembered the warm fuzzy feelings, the cold bitter pangs; the vibrant colours that emotions painted…_

So perhaps she wouldn't win any awards for being a good human being, but Cyrna Raine honestly thought that she had done nothing to deserve this torment that she was currently experiencing. After all, actions spoke louder than words, or in her case, thoughts. It didn't matter that she hadn't cared about the multitude of people she had helped in her life. What mattered was that she had treated people kindly, returned help to those who had helped her before, lent people her time even when she wanted nothing more than to scoff and turn away.

Oh, she had always known that there was something a bit off about her. In her road that had landed her into what was her final year of medical school, she had witnessed countless situations wrought with high tensions; high emotions. It was all good and relatively normal, after all, it made perfect sense for people to be upset when someone they cared for was diagnosed with a condition that could be debilitating or life-threatening. What was _not_ normal was her own lack reaction in those situations.

It had been a split-second decision. A whim, you may call it, that had sparked her curiosity to discover how life would be like when you could care, _sympathize_ , with the people that surrounded you. To see someone as they were instead of another face among the sea of humans. And where better to learn sympathy than an occupation that requires you to help and take care of others?

Cyrna groaned as her head pounded with a force so fierce that she was almost sure that she was going to die. A niggling feeling pricked the back of her mind, causing her to frown. Slowly, through the haze of pain, she remembered that she had been walking back to her apartment after a late night at the college library when a driver, probably drunk, had crashed into her. She winced, recalling the impact of her head to the hard asphalt road; so what, she puzzled, was she doing lying on the ground that smelt of fresh soil and decaying leaves?

 _"Laufeia…"_

A circle of elders

 _Where am I?_

Dim-lit room. Walls that trap her in solitude — _Why?_

 _Mother?_

One of the most beautiful women she had ever seen if not for the absolute look of disgust

 _… Father?_

A sneer marring the face of a raven-haired man

A strangled sound escapes without her permission as memories upon memories floods her mind. The joy, the curiosity, the fear, the sorrow and desolation. She feels it all as if it was her own. Gradually, the strangled sound becomes a whine as she clutches her head and bites her lips to silent herself as an indescribable pain builds in her chest.

Then, she screams.

And the the guttural scream that rips from her own mouth is filled with an intensity that frightens her.

The edges of her vision fade as black slowly fills the scenery before her though she doesn't miss the faint "pop" and a sharp intake of breath before she gives in to oblivion.

o - o - o - o - o

"… could be dangerous… neither humans nor wizards… select few can enter the forest…"

An irritated sigh.

"Not normal… black hair…"

Cyrna heard hushed murmurs as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. Sleepily, she noted that her head was no longer trying to murder her. She flexed her fingers carefully. Well, the ground she was lying on certainly felt a lot softer…

"Nicolas! Did you see the state she was in!?" a woman shrieked.

She stiffened. All thoughts of remaining asleep left abruptly. Why _were_ there people in her apartment? Opening her eyes carefully, she froze in shock.

There was a stone-cobbled fireplace, and tons and tons of bookshelves storing not only books but also jars filled with strange things—

 _—_ _Are_ _those eyeballs_ _!_ _?_

 _Uh… what?_ People, heck even hospitals, she was sure, did _not_ leave organs suspended in glass jars sitting casually on a bookshelf. Feeling more than weirded out, Cyrna hesitantly shifted her attention to the other side of the room. Sitting in a dusky corner, she saw a cauldron. The medieval sort. Like the ones seen in a children's storybook where creepy looking witches huddled around to brew a potion and weave their spells.

She gulped. Shaking her head slowly in denial, she finally allowed her mind to address the largest issue at hand:

The floating candles.

And by floating, she meant that they were literally floating with no strings attached at all. They just hovered, suspended in the air with their flames flickering steadily despite the wind she could feel coming from one of the opened windows.

 _Okay, this is definitely a dream. Or I'm delusional. This better be a goddamn dream._

"I'm not sending her back!" the same woman's voice yelled at an ungodly volume.

Her head gave a small throb in response. She pinched herself again, and she was fairly certain that the pain was real. She could feel sweat gathering in her palms as she nervously gripped the blanket. Then with a small gasp and a restrained flinch, her observations along with the pieces of memories she was slowly recalling slotted together to form the beginnings of what should have been an impossible story.

She took a deep breath.

 _Why? Why am I still alive? Where am I?_

She was on the brink of panic, but she forced herself to push it aside and focus on the very real danger that there were two strangers in the same room as her while she was all but incapacitated. What did the woman say? She seemed to want to take care of her… _how strange_

The man seemed wary— _made much more sense_

But ultimately, from what she had heard, she didn't think they were trying to harm her.

She shifted to sit up, but to her surprise, she couldn't seem to move. Her eyes darted to look for ropes, but she saw none. _What—How?_ It wasn't paralysis. She could still move her head, legs, arms, and do literally everything except sit up. But then again, there were floating candles in this world.

Perhaps she could lie still and waiting for the couple to leave, but she doubted that was happening any time soon. And even if they left, would she be able to free herself from the seemingly-magical restraints?

"Excuse, me," she said finally. The couple ceased their arguments immediately and she shrunk into herself when she felt their sharp gazes. "But could someone tell me where I am?"

"You're with the Flamels in one of our cottages," the male responded in a clipped tone. 

_Famels?_

"Yes, dear, we found you heavily injured in the Elven Forest, so we brought you back with us," said the woman who seemed to have been the one shrieking previously. "Though I don't know how you got into the fo—"

"How _did_ you get into the Forest?" the man barked. "The elves do not allow humans or witches like you to enter."

"I… I'm not sure…" she stammered, eyes widened. _So elves and witches apparently exist here too_. Another piece of the story fell into place.

"Right, of course you're not sure," the man scoffed.

"Nicolas!" the woman scolded.

"It's suspicious, Perenelle!," the man said with a growl. "You know that only creatures live there, and you _know_ how the elves are with their secrets!"

The woman made a noise of assent. "But perhaps—"

"No! There's absolutely no way she could be one with that hair. It's the literal opposite of what the colour should be."

Cyrna frowned. Yeah, she might not know what was going on, but she was _pretty sure_ she was a brunette.

But the memories… they must have came from _somewhere_. A quick glance at the closest window pane answered her question though the answer in no way pleased or satisfied her.

Life had been a pathetic game where people were never dealt equal hands. To think that she had to play it _again_.

Her hands clenched in frustration when the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The story forming into one that filled her with dread.

 _Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel_. She knew of them. How could she not? They were written about in history books _and_ they did make appearances occasionally in fictional stories. Also, while she didn't know about elves, _magic_ was quite common also in the world of fiction.

But _Flamel_ and _magic_ together…

A bitter laugh escaped.

She studied the faces of the couple.

Perenelle looked kind like someone that you would be tempted to trust. Her forehead was creased with wrinkles as she stared at Cyrna with a hint of concern. But her gaze was warm, her smile soft. She wore some sort of garment… a strange medieval looking dress… no… if she was where she thought she was, then that was most certainly a robe.

Nicolas wore robes as well. He looked old, no, ancient, with his hunched back. His countenance was not kind, though she wouldn't say that it was cruel. His gaze narrowed suspiciously at her as she continued her observations. Her eyes fell to his hands and she noted that his fingers seemed to have been stained permanently. _Fucking hell. Those stains have got to be from brewing potions._

 _Potions_ … She laughed again, this time with a slightly more hysterical edge as she stared at the cauldron and the glass jars she had seen.

"We should obliviate her and just get this over with," Nicolas muttered under his breath. Perenelle frowned disapprovingly though she didn't vocalize her objection this time.

 _Obliviate? Oh my god I am actually in Harry Potter._

"Right so," she snorted in laughter as her dread mounted, "has Dumbledore, the _Headmaster_ of Hogwarts, contacted you yet?"

"No, my dear,… is there a reason why we should hear from him?" Perenelle asked Cyrna gently.

Nicolas stared at her with skepticism.

Cyrna had _never_ viewed Life as a friend. And now, she had to wonder what trespasses she had committed against it. She thought back to the books. Dumbledore had not been the Headmaster during Riddle's childhood and the Flamels were still alive…

 _So I could be in any time between the end of Grindelwald to the start of the Hogwarts Era._

Her eyes widened, and she cursed silently in her mind. But it didn't ultimately matter which part of the timeline she was in… did it? Even if it was the moment of peace before Harry Potter's life, it didn't change one simple fact—

— _Voldemort is still alive._

o - o - o - o - o

Let it be said that Cyrna loved Harry Potter. It was a classic piece of children's literature saturated with nostalgia. But that didn't mean she wanted to be _in_ the story. Who in their right mind would _want_ to be mixed up between Voldemort and whoever he was fighting against? And the sheer amount of people who had died in the last book…

She should just attempt to leave Britain, and head to America…

…but she couldn't. Not for a long time at least. She had no money and was probably—unless the minimum age to work had somehow changed significantly, too young to earn any. So she was trapped. Trapped in this blasted place until she got enough money.

Her dread rose to a precarious level, and she felt a strange laugh bubble out of her mouth.

She was trapped in another game Life had decided to play, but this time, a much more dangerous one. The safety… her stability—family, friends, her career, success—that she had painstakingly cultivated… she watched it wither away, amounting to nothing now in this new and strange world.

 _This is so fucking stupid._

She snorted.

Her gasps quickened and became more pronounced. Then she laughed.

Laughed.

 _And laughed._

Tears dribbled down her cheeks as the frail body she was now wearing shook uncontrollably with bitter laughter.

She failed to notice as the room filled with magic and continued to fill until the magic was almost palpable. She failed to notice the screaming for her to calm down; failed to notice the crackling sounds of glass as the windows shattered.

But it was impossible to notice, even when she was so stuck in her head, the thundering _boom_ as the house was torn apart.

Her laugh halted abruptly; bitterness overwhelmed by the shock of what had just happened. _The house was completely leveled._ Shock turned to excitement. She had forgotten one small, or big thing. depending on the way you think about it.

She was in a world of magic, meaning that there had been a possibility that she could do magic as well.

… _did I just do that?_

She surveyed the remains of the house; the rubble, the splintered wood…

 _Was that me?_

She stared at Nicolas and Perenelle who were both inside a translucent shield. They stared at her in shock. She stared back in shock tinged with excitement.

A small smile pulled her lips up.

 _It was me. I did it._

 _I did magic_.

Giddy with excitement, she missed the softly spoken words of _stupefy_ and the red light heading her way.


	2. Her Promise and Her Second Chance

**Chapter 2: Her Promise and Her Second Chance**

Half-conscious, Cyrna felt a hand roughly grab her forearm before she experienced the feeling of being forced through a rubber tube. If she was fully conscious, she was certain that she would have emptied her stomach. The books were unfortunately quite accurate in their descriptions of apparition.

Suddenly, the hand that held her was removed, and she roughly landed face-first on the sand.

" _Rennervate_ "

The peaceful sound of waves crashing towards the shore and the sound of the seagulls cawing and wailing enveloped her as she stumbled up from the ground. A distance away, she spotted a rather quaint mansion sitting on top of the gentle rolling plains of grass that overlooked the large body of water behind her.

"Well come along now dear," Perenelle coaxed as Cyrna vigorously spat out the sand that had coated her mouth, "Let's find a more comfortable place to finish our conversation. After all," she chuckled, "you seem to have leveled our cottage. This mansion we'll be heading to is warded, so it should be able to sustain, let's say, a bit more damage before it is destroyed."

Perenelle offered her hand for the child to take. She understood why her husband was suspicious, of course, but at the same time, she didn't sense anything inherently evil from this small child. _Strange_ , yes. But Evil? `

She glanced at the child again. The child was angular; most, if not all the bones were visible. Sunken cheeks. Long raven-coloured hair that was lacklustre, probably from years of malnourishment. White pasty skin which looked as if it had never seen the light of day was wrapped tightly around her slight frame. All in all, she was the literal definition of "skin and bones," and if not for the fact that she stood upright in her own volition, she could have passed as a corpse.

Her eyes though, unlike the rest of her, were alive. The crystal blue eyes shone with intelligence as they watched her, contemplating her offer. They stared at her with calculation; with a cleverness uncommonly seen in children. They dissected her words; her intentions, her features for any sort of lie or insincerity.

 _Strange child. But evil?_ Perenelle shook her head and quirked her lips up as she gazed fondly at the child she had found. _Never_.

And how her husband had missed those eyes, she was not certain. Perhaps it was the fault of the dim-lit potions room they had been nursing the child in, or perhaps it was their failing eyesight.

Nevertheless, in the light of day, those eyes were unmistakable.

Many people had blue eyes, but this shade of blue that caused the eyes to appear as if they were _crystals_ was a trait that belonged _only_ to the elves.

o - o - o - o - o

Cyrna glanced at the outstretched hand then to the face of its owner.

Nothing in Perenelle's posture betrayed any thoughts of insincerity in her offer of help. She had only needed to take a sweeping glance at Nicolas to see that his lips was twisted down in blatant disapproval. To be fair, she could understand him much better. Why offer help to a complete stranger in a world and time as dangerous as this one?

There was nothing she could offer for the woman to take such risk. Then kindness? Was she one of _those_ people? Those who moved to care out of kindness? Those who trusted easily and were betrayed frequently?

She refrained from rolling her eyes at that thought. She doubted she would ever understand people like them.

The hand remained in front of her, unmoving. Everything yelled at her to take it. To act like a scared little girl—not that it would require much acting. She _was_ rather confused and terrified at the moment. To shed a few tears before playing up the "I'm a poor lost child" story. _To take advantage of her kindness…_

Oh _that_ would have been so _easy_. Just a hand in hers. Some tears. A toothy smile. Wide eyes…

If played correctly, she could get them to take care of her. The issues of finding a shelter, clothes, food… they could all be solved in this one simple act.

But could she do that?

She hesitated at the outstretched hand. _A symbol of trust and kindness_. Her hand wavered by her side, and her features tightened when she remembered the feeling of warmth and safety when she had awoken on the bed. Of the lack of pain.

And what had she done in return? Destroyed their house. And now she was thinking about deceit.

 _A favour for a favour_

Cyrna shook her head slightly disgusted at herself. Her hand tightened into a grip at her side. She did not care for people and their feelings, but that didn't necessarily mean that she _wanted_ to act like a monster who took advantage of others; destroyed others to further her own path without remorse. This rule defined her. Kept her sane.

 _Kept her normal._

She smiled a brittle smile. If rejecting her kindness meant that she would be interrogated and left to fend for herself in this new world, then let it happen. She had never needed anyone except herself. Not in the successes she had achieved in her past life. Not in this life.

 _Not ever._

Ignoring the offered hand, she started her uphill trek.

But she did owe them something, she thought as she recalled Pernelle's hopeful gaze. For saving her life, for offering her shelter… what Perenelle wanted… _trust_ … she doubted she could ever really give that to anyone. But she _could_ give something much simpler— _a promise_. _A promise to never to lie to them_.

Moments later, two sets of footsteps could be heard behind her as the Flamels slowly made their way up to the mansion on the hill.

 _To never lie_. That was as close to trust that she could give to someone. And really, she thought with a self recriminating smile, what better promise to give to someone she had been tempted to deceive?

o - o - o - o - o

Cyrna allowed her gaze to linger on the sea that could be seen from her windows. It was peaceful day; the quiet sounds of the push and pull of the waves against the shore was accompanied by the occasional cry of a gull. Small ships bobbed above the waves in a hypnotic manner, lulling her to allow her thoughts to wander freely.

As soon as they had entered the mansion, Nicolas had wanted to interrogate her. She had had a vague idea that his desire to do so stemmed from his motive of wanting to be rid of her faster: interrogate, obliviate, then send her off on her merry way had probably been the plan.

But instead, Perenelle had promptly dragged her off for a grand tour of the mansion the moment Nicolas opened his mouth to speak. The sly smirk that Perenelle sent Nicolas pulled her own smirk from her lips, and without much thought she allowed herself to be pulled along as Perenelle lead her from room to room before finally depositing her in what appeared to be a guest room.

"Sit."

Perenelle's expression and voice allowed for no other option but to obey, so Cyrna hesitantly sat down on the chair. With a crooked finger, a large mug flew towards Perenelle's awaiting hand. She grasped it and offered it to Cyrna.

"I—" Cyrna began, eyeing the drink warily.

"This is a special recipe that contains all the benefits of a nutrient potion but none of the terrible taste," she smiled softly, the warmth in her eyes causing Cyrna to shift uncomfortably. "I expect you to be finished this drink when you come down for dinner, dear."

Perenelle had left soon afterwards, leaving her alone in the room. Having no way to detect for poisons or any other unpleasant substances, she drank from the cup. She doubted Perenelle, or Nicolas for the fact, would put anything in the drink, and she _was_ hungry.

 _And tired_. Her mind whispered to her as she stared at the bed. The clean white linen that seemed suffused with a lavender scent held a stronger allure than anything else at this very moment. There _were_ at least a few hours until dinner…

o - o - o - o - o

She smiled stiltedly as Nicolas glowered at her.

The morning rays were mocking as they pooled across the the dining table. She delicately buttered her toast, trying to avoid the terrible red her new skin was prone to show when she was embarrassed, well _mortified_ might be the more accurate word for this situation.

She had been more tired than she had expected to be, and by accident, she had missed dinner. This wasn't a huge issue… if she ignored that fact that she had pretty much, for free, spent a night at a stranger's home without even asking for permission. She didn't think Perenelle minded much if at all, but Nicolas was _pissed_.

"Maybe we could start with your name?" the alchemist sneered.

Cyrna was now certain her cheeks were a bright red. Blast this pale skin.

She cleared her throat. "I'm Cyrna Raine. My apologies for the belated introduction."

The couple exchanged a glance with each other.

Surprise. Cyrna was certain she read surprise in there. Why? Hadn't her introduction been— _fuck_ —why did she _always_ fall back on polite speech whenever she was nervous? She hid her wince with a smile. Too little too late. She noted to herself in bold and underlined words to talk with a bit less vocabulary to the next adult that took pity on her.

"Don't worry about that, my dear," Perenelle's soft voice seemed to echo unnaturally loud in the tense silence that had settled. "Do you know where your parents are? Perhaps they live in one of the villages near the forest?"

 _Parents… an expression of disgust… a sneer…_

 _A hand flying towards her—_

Cyrna suppressed a flinch. The word _parents_ filling her with an inexplicable sense of dread. "No…" she said faintly. "I don't believe I know where my parents are."

"As for where I'm from," she hastily ploughed on missing the concern on Perenelle's face and the heightened attentiveness on Nicolas's eyes. "I'm from—"

 _… from where?_

"…From…" the word tasted like ash as she slowly spoke it. _Where was she from? America? That was where Cyrna Raine had grown up in… England? That was certainly where she imagined the new body she was in was from._

But ultimately? She _knew_ she wasn't from either of those places. The current America was no longer hers to call home. Neither was England, for she had little to no recollection or fondness for that place.

The grip on her fork tightened before she set it down. _"I promise not to lie to them"_ echoed incessantly in her mind. No matter how much she wanted to, she would never break her own promise. As one who didn't understand sympathy and compassion, her word was important to her. _Her word defined her_.

Besides, the Flamels were going to die soon. What harm was there to let them in on her secret, given that they were willing to undertake a vow of secrecy?

o - o - o - o - o

"I need a vow of secrecy before I can answer that question."

Perenelle immediately agreed, but before she could say anything, Nicolas hastily stopped her with a tight grip to her arm.

"We saved you from death, you destroyed our house, and now, you want us to swear a vow for _this_?"

"My circumstances are complicated," Cyrna whispered, slightly abashed. She knew she was asking for a lot, but she wanted _some_ reassurance that her secrets would be safe.

"Complicated. _Right_ ," sneered Nicolas. "In all my six hundred and eighty-eight years, I have never came across such ridiculousness of a situation."

He stood abruptly. "I've had it. As soon as you are done your breakfast, I expect to see you out the door."

"Nico—" started Perenelle in a scandalized tone.

"No. This is my house as much as it is yours, and I have not estranged myself from society to protect it only for you to let some… some _child_ into the house who can't even trust us with the answer to one of the most basic questions."

Perenelle's gaze softened. "Nicolas, believe me that I know better than anyone the lengths you have gone for us, but—" she shifts her gaze to the small raven-haired girl. Carefully, she reaches over to set her hand down on her head, and she finds herself delighted when the child stiffens but does not flinch at her touch. "But Nicolas," she pleads, "she is just a child."

"Tom was only just a child compared to us—even if compared to Albus." His words are harsh, but his sneer has lost its edge.

Cyrna really isn't too sure how she feels when a hand lands gently on her head. Its touch warm like the rest of the woman as she, in a misguided attempt, attempts to comfort her. Like now, how she stands between Nicolas and herself… Perenelle wants to help her, she _knows_. She also knows that there is little the woman can do for her if she doesn't help herself. But she has never been the courageous sort, so she takes a moment to center herself before she tentatively voices her thoughts.

"Mr. Flamel—" a sneer from the man. "Believe me when I say that if I didn't think this was important and perhaps dangerous to me then I would never have asked for something like the vow to ensure my safety."

She knows that she did not sound very childlike just then. But if they dismiss her, what does it matter? And if they listen to her story, they will realize that she really isn't a child anyways.

"Besides," Cyrna smirks at him tauntingly though she allows a teasing glint to show in her eyes, "I am willing to bet that _my_ situation is one that you have never come across in your six hundred or so years of life."

Nicolas studies her. _Really_ studies her for the first time, and while he isn't shocked by the intelligence and weariness he sees reflected in her eyes, he _is_ shocked by their colour. _How had he not noticed it before?_ But it is impossible. She has black hair after all…

What ifs fly through his mind, his thoughts reconstructing the most likely scenario that could have occurred to have resulted in her bruised and battered body lying strewn upon the ground in the Elven forest. If what he suspects is the case, then it is even more puzzling that she is alive.

"Arrogant, aren't we?" Nicolas finally murmured. "To think that you are unique—"

"—Perhaps if arrogance meant self-preservation, then yes. _Very_ ," Cyrna interrupts with a smile that, frustratingly for Nicolas, seems to hid her thoughts.

Unbidden, Nicolas feels a smirk rise across his face. After all, he is nothing if not curious. His most famous creation that landed him a place in the chocolate frog cards proves it. "Very well then—" he and Perenelle swears the oath. He gestures lazily to the child—"tell us about yourself."

o - o - o - o - o

"I'm both from England and not from England," Cyrna blurted out immediately after the oaths were sworn.

They both stared at her nonplussed, but her answering smile is genuine. It is a relief to finally tell someone else about her circumstance.

"I lived in the 21st century." Their eyes widened. "I was in my final year of medical school in America when I died in a rather mundane way. Then I woke up in this child's body who, based on her memories seems to be from England."

She gives a shrug in a "what can you do" sort of way.

"The 21st century," Nicolas parroted back somewhat skeptically. "That's impossible. You can't travel that far back in time with time turners."

"And," Cyrna rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, "I don't even think I'm in my universe anymore."

Silence. She can feel her face heating up as the couple stares at her.

Finally, Nicolas makes a curious noise. "Why do you think that?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain that magic doesn't exist in my world."

He hums thoughtfully. "But isn't that what the muggles in this world think as well?"

Cyrna blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. She's hasn't thought of it that way. But then, doesn't that mean that the Harry Potter series is a historical recounting of a massive war that hadn't made it into their history books? She snorted, shocked that after spending most of her life in the pursuit of science that she would even allow her thoughts to wander down that road.

"No… just… no. Magic did not—does not—exist in my world," Cyrna replied with finality, unwilling to entertain _that_ possibility. "I just need a bit of help. Some basic information about the rules of this universe. Playing a game without knowing the rules is a set up for failure, after all."

A tense silence settled over the parties. This is more than what Nicolas could ever imagine it to be. This is—

"She's not lying," his wife murmured to him.

He exhaled. "This is ridiculous. Absolutely—" he gets up and paces restlessly—" _absolutely not normal_."

"You don't sa—" Cyrna began sarcastically.

"No, _listen_ , I have seen magic do great amount of things, _wondrous_ things, _evil_ things; I witnessed Grindelwald's reign as well as the First Wizarding War, both of which were the darkest moments of history, _and_ I have lived a _long_ time before those events had even happened. You see," he continued, "Magic plays with life, it plays with death, it plays with space, and for Merlin's sake, it can even play with time—through time turners. But _never_ has magic played with _all four elements at the same time_. Jumping through the rifts of time for more than five hours in the past is a feat in itself, but what Magic did to you was it tore you out of your dimension and placed you in an alternate space of a different past. Then, Death stole the soul from the body you currently reside in, and Life took you from your universe and planted you in the empty shell."

"Magic has never intervened to such extent. So, if what you say is true, _why you_? _What_ do you have to offer to this world?"

"I…"

Cyrna paled. She had been so wrapped up in surviving the present, that she had not even thought of her reincarnation from this perspective; she had just written it off as a chance of fate. She knew she was smart, maybe even brilliant. But she didn't think that she could compare to the genius of scientists who made ground-breaking scientific discoveries. She was brilliant, but she, unlike Einstein, could never create complex physical or mathematical relations between variables.

People might argue and say that Einstein was not from the 21st century, or perhaps, that Cyrna was summoned because of her familiarity with the Harry Potter series; but she would bet her life that she was not the smartest person in her world who had read the Harry Potter books—nor was she the person from her world who knew the most about the series. There _were_ those who had the books memorized word for word as if it was gospel.

"I… can't offer anything that others cannot," she murmured quietly. The words tore at her ego a bit, but she knew them to be true. Always had known them to be true.

In fact, she knew that besides her knowledge and intelligence, there was little else that she _could_ offer.

If Magic had wanted a hero for the upcoming war, then it should have chosen someone who had an immense potential to love and care for others. According to Dumbledore, it had been Harry's ability to love and care for others that allowed him to win, and it was Snape's love for Lily that gave him the strength to persevere and complete his role as a spy.

 _Cyrna was more than aware of the fact that she felt no inclination to die for a world she felt little to no love for._

" _Child,_ Magic always has a reas—" began Nicolas with a hint of exasperation.

" _No, listen!_ There is _nothing_ I can do that someone else could not do _better_. I have nothing unique to offer," Cyrna rambled on, determined to be honest, "I'm smart, but not a genius; I can't even care for someone, much less the world, so _if_ there was a battle, _I would flee_."

"Then perhaps," Perenelle spoke softly after a while had passed, "you are here because there is something that _our world_ can offer _to_ you."

"Wha—"

"Be quiet Nicolas," Perenelle said sternly, before softening her gaze as she turned back to Cyrna. "To me, it's as if you've taken everything that's happened to you in stride. You've adapted ridiculously well for someone's third day in this world; I would think that one would still be in shock if they had cared deeply for anyone in their old world."

She must have seen something in Cyrna's expression that confirmed her theory, because she smiled sadly. "I think that you were able to adapt so well in this world because _you never lived_ in your world. You existed, but never lived."

Cyrna couldn't find it in herself to look at either of the Flamels in the silence that followed the statement. She tried to reply, but the sudden dryness she felt in her throat seemed to prevent her from speaking.

"So perhaps," Perenelle concluded glibly, "Magic has brought you here to give you _another_ chance to live."

 _A second chance?_ She forced herself to swallow.

"My second chance?" Cyrna asked, suddenly sounding as young as she looked.

"Perhaps," Perenelle gently replied, "perhaps this is Magic giving you _and_ this child's body a chance to belong in the world— _one last chance so that you may find your reason to live_."


	3. The Difference Between Good and Evil

**Chapter 3: The Difference Between Good and Evil**

Quiet chirrups of birds announced the new morn as soft rays of dawn filtered through the high arched windows into a room handsomely furnished with burgundy-toned couches and a plethora of vintage bookshelves, each of which were filled to the brim with priceless tomes. Wax candles of different heights along with stacks of parchment and ink were strewn all over the surface of intricately carved mahogany tables located in the darkened corners of the room as they accumulated dust from years of neglect.

Soft crackling sounds of burning logs were heard and the occasional sparks and flares danced across the shadows of two conversing figures who sat by the fireplace of their living room.

A sudden flame blazed and lit up its immediate surroundings, revealing the figures to be none other than Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel. Hushed murmurings could be heard at this ungodly hour of the morning.

"You can choose to either get along or tolerate her presence but know that I will allow her to stay for as long as she wants my help."

A quiet sigh. "There is just something off about her. I can't get rid of the feeling that she's similar to…"

"She's not evil," said Perenelle with certainty.

"Perhaps not." Nicolas agreed. "But for a child like her to have formed _no_ connection with anyone in her past world worth grieving over… Tell me," he suddenly turned to Perenelle. "What do you think keeps humans from falling to evil?"

"Love?"

He hummed noncommittally. "I've always believed that instead of love, it is the connection that allows humans to understand other humans on a level far greater than the intellectual level. _Sympathy._ It's hard to inflict suffering on others when you understand the pain."

Nicholas continued on grimly as he turned away from his wife to stare, almost hypnotized, at the flickering embers of the fire, "You don't know Albus as well as I do Perenelle; I was still his mentor when he met and became enraptured with Grindelwald and his ideals. There _is_ a reason why Grindelwald viewed only Albus as his equal—it was because they were similar. They were similar in their intellect and power, and at the peak of Albus' enthrallment, similar also in their ambition and in their belief that muggles were inferior. You have absolutely no idea of how close Albus was to falling dark…the only thing, I think, that prevented his fall was his ability to sympathize."

"And believe me when I say that it wasn't his morals that stopped him," he scoffed "—by then, they were far too twisted to do any good. No, it was Ariana's death that woke him. His care for her allowed him to feel grief, and with grief came _guilt_." Nicholas finished, "His guilt was what gave him the needed push to return to the light."

There was a moment of silence as Perenelle digested the information. "You are saying that there is nothing holding Cyrna back from turning dark if she falls."

"Yes," he exhaled heavily. "That is precisely what I am saying." A small smile twitches on his face. "And we both know that she has the intelligence and power to become feared—for the light or the dark."

Perenelle smiled fondly at the thought of the little raven-haired child. It was impossible not to find her adorable with the resolution and painful honestly she had shown them yesterday. Her little hands had been fidgeting nervously with the hem of the robes she had lent her. The soft tufts of hair after it had been clean had stuck out in a rather scruffy manner much like the down feathers of a ruffled baby bird. They had discovered she was actually around a decade older than she looked. But to them, a decade or two, made no difference. She was still practically a child when compared to Nicolas and her.

"And this is before her magical maturity," Nicolas practically groaned as his wrinkled hand went up to rub his temple. "That child will be a handful to care for. I just know it."

Perenelle hid a smirk at her husbands distress. Complain as he might, she knew that he wouldn't willingly throw her out the house. The bluntness in which she had spoken yesterday had touched a spot in his heart. After so many people had lied and killed to steal the stone, honesty like that was a breath of fresh air.

"All the more reason to allow her to stay. We can guide her," Perenelle said calmly. "Imagine the damage she could do to whatever community she finds herself in if she doesn't learn how to control it."

"It's hard to teach someone who barely trusts you," he grumped.

She arched a brow. "Trust is needed both ways for any relationship to grow."

Nicolas scowled. "You give yours too freely."

"And you are too stingy with yours," she said warmly as she held her husband's hand. "We balance each other out well."

"That we do," he said quietly. _That we do…_

o - o - o - o - o

The Philosopher's Stone, Perenelle mused, had marked the peak of Nicolas' genius as well as the start of his pessimism. In the early years when he had just invented the Stone, they had been hounded and chased by people who wanted it, and as danger grew, Nicolas' paranoia did as well; still he had never doubted the inherent goodness of mankind.

That had all changed when their child had died.

Her chest tightened painfully as she remembered that moment. One day they had returned home only to find their wards destroyed and their home upturned. A man had held their child at wand point while thirty other men had stood by. They demanded the Stone in return for their child.

She remembered her child's frantic cries of _"Mamma! Papa!"_ and she also remembered the hardening of Nicolas' eyes as he made his decision. In the next moment, he had gripped her arm and had apparated them out of the house. In the midst of apparating, she knew that neither she nor her husband would forget the enraged cry of _"Avada Kedavra"_ as the consequence of their choice was made known.

She knew that he had chosen correctly—the Philosopher's Stone was far too dangerous in the hands of evil. But even with that knowledge, she had still been bitter towards her husband for the longest time, after all, what mother would sacrifice her son, even if it was to save the world?

However, as she had lived on, time softened the edges of her pain and she made up with Nicolas a decade later. She learned to love and care for other people again, but the same could not be said for her husband. Nicolas had never been quite the same after the incidence.

First, he had lost the ability to see good in people, then he lost the ability to trust. Paranoia, which had been festering within him for years, soon made itself known in Nicolas' decision to separate from the rest of society. Unwilling to let Nicolas face eternity on his own, she had followed him to his self-imposed exile.

They had been living in solitude for around 400 years when one day, Nicolas had brought back a young Albus Dumbledore. He had muttered something about teaching alchemy to the young man as a favour for Albus' third great-grandfather before herding the boy downstairs into the potions room. She clearly recalled Nicolas' disappointment when he discovered Albus' involvement with Grindelwald, and she remembered how much Albus' return to the Light had meant for him—to Nicolas, the return had been the needed proof that not all men would fall when tempted by evil.

In the next eighty or so years after that revelation, Nicolas had mellowed out, his paranoia reduced to subdued suspicion.

o - o - o - o - o

"Nicolas, don't fear her for something that she may never become."

"Going with your logic," he muttered miserably, "fearing her for something she _may_ become would also be a perfectly valid conclusion."

Perenelle gave her husband a look. "She hasn't given up on learning sympathy yet. She isn't cruel without reason."

 _She does have a sense of integrity, strangely enough… some sort of rule she lives by that prevented her from trying to gain our sympathies through deceit… but…_

"Would you run a race that seems to stretch on forever with neither the directions for how to get to the goal nor the knowledge on when the race will end? There's only so much one can endure before they tire of what they will perceive as running in vain. Even the most stubborn of humans would be worn down if their attempts were met with nothing but failure. One day, she will decide that she is tired of trying to care. She could change for the worse."

"But she might also change for the better," countered Perenelle. "Nicolas,"she sighed.

Nicolas' eyes softened as he gazed upon his wife. His thoughts traveled back to their days at Beauxbatons, then to the time when he had successfully created the pinnacle of alchemy, then finally to _that_ day when he had chosen to save the world instead of his son. The hundreds of years that passed by after the incidence had been blurred with despair, self-loathing, and irrational anger. But through it all, Perenelle had stayed by his side; she had always comforted him in his bouts of grief and had offered him wisdom in his bursts of anger.

He observed the lines that time had marked on Perenelle's face, and he thought of how different she looked now than when they had first met as children. And in this moment under the light of the dawn, to him, she had never looked more beautiful.

"Nicolas," Perenelle murmured, her gaze reflecting the flickering warmth of the fire, "let us judge her as she is in the present rather than what she will be."

A yelp followed by the distinct sound of shattering dishes jolted both the Flamels from their conversation. Standing at alert, they exchanged a glance before Nicolas' lips quirked into a frown.

"I think our little guest has arrived again."

"Oh dear," Perenelle muttered fretfully, "I forgot to warn Cyrna of him. I best find them before either gets hurt."

Nicolas watched with more than just mild amusement as his wife rushed off to the kitchens like a frantic mother hen. Perenelle always had a habit of picking up strays, perhaps it was her way to fill the void that their son's death had left in them. Nevertheless, for his wife at the very least, he would make a sincere effort to trust the newest addition to their family—because, let's face it, there was no way his wife would let the child go, not after her impassioned plea to him for her to remain.

 _To judge her as she is…_

With a sigh, he headed towards the kitchen at a much calmer pace, all the while thinking about how he should go about introducing Cyrna to her new world and what he should teach to someone from an alternate universe.

The child seemed intelligent—smart enough to piece together what had happened in the small amount of time she had been conscious. He had no doubts that the emotional storm of magic that had ripped apart their cottage had been the moment she had made her realization. She had pieced together a story that was true but seemingly so impossible under the span of a few minutes.

Perhaps she would be brilliant enough to learn alchemy. Merlin knew that Albus had eventually given it up in exchange for delving further into the arts of Transfiguration.

It _had_ been quite a while since he had taken on an apprentice.


	4. The Familiar

**Chapter 4:** **The Familiar**

The Flamel's estate, like many other Victorian mansions, was opulent on the outside with stretches upon stretches of land. The gardens were well-tended, and though you could often spot strange birds and creatures lurking in the woods on the border of the estate, there was a distinct lack of magical creatures within the mansion wards. Non-magical creatures, however, had not been barred from entering the estate.

Frequent visits of varying bird species and the occasional strays could be seen wandering through the gardens at certain intervals of the day. But unlike the Malfoy Manor, there was a distinct lack of albino peacocks strutting around the estate.

It was early in the morning when Cyrna woke up. A glance outside showed that the blanket of fog characteristic of seaside-locations had yet to lift, painting the skies a misty gray. Streams of light peeking through the dewy-morning air, made its way into her room. She yawned lazily as she snuggled deeper into her blankets. If there was one thing she was enjoying so far in the new universe, it was the lack of responsibility and the significant reduction in work.

 _Tap tap._ A sharp rap shattered the serenity of the morning.

Her brows bunched together in irritation as she burrowed deeper into her bed in response, hoping that the person would leave her alone. But the rapping continued incessantly, only increasing in frequency and volume the longer she ignored it.

"What?" she groaned. Her brows furrowed even further in a futile attempt to stay asleep.

Then she heard it. That hated long harsh metallic squeaking sound that grated her hearing, chasing away her last attempts of returning to sleep. Growling curses under her breath, her eyes snapped open, and she swung out of her bed in a fluid motion.

The loud scuffling noises which came from her window ledge had her stalking towards her window angrily. Her eyes narrowed with curiousity when she spotted a small white paw at the corner of her window. Slowly to not startle the creature, she carefully peered out the window.

She first heard rather than saw the creature fall. A frantic _mrreeoww_ before the paw disappeared from the ledge had her quickly flinging open her windows.

 _Wait._

Her heart pounded rapidly as she stared at the plummeting animal.

 _This is the fourth floor. There's no way it'll survive the fall._ Her hand stretched out without a second thought as adrenaline kicks in. A strange rush of sound fills her ears until all she can hear apart from her thundering pulse is silence.

 _Small hands trembled in the darkness. She felt her body shiver from the cold as she tucked her legs close to her chest. Laying down on the makeshift bed in the dark room, she fervently prayed for the cold to go away. A cough welled up in her throat before she succumbed to the painful hacking that she had been experiencing the past few days. She would have tried to pull up the thin bedsheets, except her fingers felt numb; unresponsive._

 _Really, she was just so tired. As she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she thought once more of the warmth from the human that had carried her into the dark room, and strangely enough, the last thing she heard before her eyes fell closed in slumber, was the quiet whisper of the air around her as it stirred and held her in a warm embrace._

"A memory?" Cyrna murmurs faintly to herself as she stares at her outstretched hand. She can almost see, can almost imagine the warmth of the wind that the body had once commanded.

The pitiful cry breaks through the roaring sound that echoes in her ear. Hazily, she remembers calling her magic to save the creature. Her body moves as if it is not her own. Her senses expand and suddenly she perceives, as if in a dream, beautiful silver strings that dance around her. They curl around her outstretched hand like a snake waiting to strike. And somehow, she realizes in the fog her mind has now become, that all she needs to do is ask. Ask and _desire_ and then—

Then the silver strings _obey_.

Her magic wells up around her, and she sees the strings gain a focus as they plunge towards the falling creature.

From the still of the morning air, strong gusts of wind appear. Gently, it swirled around the small white creature, catching it, before lowering it to the ground. The kitten's paws touch the ground, and the roaring sound that echoed in her head stops just as abruptly as it had started.

Cyrna blinked owlishly, her mind hastening to reconstruct what had just happened when she catches the form of the kitten who seems to be staring up at her. Brilliant blue and crystal eyes clash before the kitten turns away and scampers off into the meadows.

o - o - o - o – o

 _I did magic again._

She sank dizzily onto the wooden floors feeling as if she had never slept, the use of magic exhausting what little energy she had recovered under Perenelle's care. Groaning as another headache wracked across her head, she forced herself to focus on the new memories that had sprung up. The distress, the resignation she had felt… she shivered, the coldness of the dark room seemed to be pressing on her as she stared sightlessly at the mirror in front of her.

Pale white skin. Unnaturally so, to the point where it seemed almost translucent in the correct light. Sunken cheeks. Cracked lips. Raven-black hair that fell messily over her shoulders. Chipped nails. She flexed her fingers and watched with a strange sort of fascination as they responded… these fingers that were hers, and yet, were not really hers…

What role was this body supposed to play in this world? Which piece of the game was she supposed to be?

A hero? A villain? Was it too naive to think that she could play the role of a common bystander?

 _Probably._

If Magic and Fate was some sort of entity just as Death seemed to be in this universe, then there must have been a reason why this body had not been allowed to die at that time. _And why me? Why was I chosen to control this game piece?_

She knew, without a doubt, that she did not want to change anything. No change meant that it was guaranteed that the Light would win.

But what of the people who died?

Game pieces whose death were planned and plotted for in the game of Life, in the game dictated by Fate.

Even if she wanted to save someone, should she? Did she have the right to change what Fate had once decided? _To alter their destiny? Isn't that like… like playing god?_

But would the good human being she was aiming to learn and become simply sit by and _allow_ people to die? Knowing who would die and allowing it to happen… surely that, in some way, would basically be indirect murder, wouldn't it? And what if she changed something and caused someone _else_ to die instead? Wouldn't that make her responsible for that person's death?

 _And is being "good" really that important—is learning sympathy worth the cost of risking my life?_

She thought back to her previous life. _But is life worth living without being able to sympathize?_

Neither were questions she could answer.

o - o - o - o – o

Cyrna headed to the bathroom once the morning had reached a more respectable time. Daily ablutions completed, she picked out a robe that Perenelle had left for her before heading down. Quietly, she trod down the stairs and she strolled at a rather sedate pace towards the kitchen.

She ran through the well-repeated motions of preparing a lightly buttered toast served with a thin layer of jam and plated her food without much thought. Leaving the plate on the counter she wandered around the kitchen in an attempt to find the milk. Normally, she would have gone straight to the fridge to search for it, but there was no fridge in this kitchen. There probably wasn't a fridge in most Wizarding houses since it made more sense for them to rely on cooling charms.

After a few minutes of searching, she finally found it in a large jug lying near an open window. She grabbed the handle, and as she had expected, it was cold despite not being refrigerated. _Ice-cold_. But what was curious to her, was that the milk was at a different temperature than the jug. It was warmer. If it had been at the same temperature, she would have expected the milk to be frozen solid.

A localized freezing charm? The only related spell she knew of was _glacius_ , and she was sure _that_ would cause the milk to freeze solid rather than cool it.

Deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice the small furry creature slinking in through the opened kitchen windows as it crouched down and prepared to pounce. All Cyrna saw as she poured herself a cup of milk was a small ball of white hurtling towards her.

"What the—" she yelped as she ducked down and rolled away. The jug dropped and the resounding crash that echoed through the mansion had her muttering another curse. Picking herself off the ground, she withheld a groan when she saw the large puddles of milk that had gotten on the kitchen floor. _And her clothes_. Her robes were unpleasantly wet.

Carefully, she turned to look for the intruder, and to her surprise, she met the mistakable blue gaze of the kitten she had saved earlier as it stood a few feet away, lapping up the spilled milk from the kitchen tiles with a smug grin.

 _Damn this cat to seven hells._ Her morning peace had, single-handedly, been ruined twice by this blasted feline.

"You bastard!" Cyrna exclaimed.

The kitten meowed lazily in response and finished up its meal before it padded over towards Cyrna and plopped itself on her lap, asking to be petted. She gapped at the tiny bundle of fur that dared to nestle on her lap.

"No," she said with a scowl, irritation lacing every word as she spoke. "I'm not petting you. You don't deserve it."

One eye opened and blinked innocently at her as it mewed plaintively and nuzzled the hand resting on the lap.

o - o - o - o - o

This was the scene that Perenelle Flamel walked in to find. An amused grin spread across her face when she noted the annoyed expression of the soaked child as the kitten insistently butted its head against the hand which remained lightly rested on her lap.

Nicolas who had followed behind her took one look at the scene and at the milk that had splattered all over the floor and broke into a guffaw. "Well your two strays seem to be getting along."

"Oh hush," Perenelle said with a smile.

Cyrna's head snapped up at the sound, and she felt her face heat up in embarrassment.

"You just can't seem to stop breaking things, can you?" Nicolas asked dryly. He waved his hand, and the mess disappeared. Her clothes were magically dried too.

"Thank you," she squeaked out at the stern man.

"Can't say I feel the same—" his wife turned to face him. "Ah, no need to say anything Perenelle, I'll just excuse myself to the dining room," Nicolas said wryly, a smirk all too apparent on his face. His eyes glimmered with suppressed laughter as he swept out of the kitchens.

Cyrna got up from the ground in a rush, sending the kitten toppling out of her lap.

"I'm sorry for the mess and the disturbance."

"You don't need to worry dear," Perenelle said with a large smile. "Cleaning up is no trouble when you have magic. Besides, that kitten has made far greater messes in this kitchen before. I'm just happy that he's friendly with you; He lets me feed him, but he has never allowed me to pet him."

Cyrna makes a noncommittal sound. She doesn't really want to be friends with a cat if it means that all her precious mornings are going to be ruined like this one.

Perenelle laughed fondly at the child's expression. "Ah, whether you'd like it or not is rather secondary. You'll soon find that you have little control over what a cat does."

"Is this my dose of wisdom for the day?" Cyrna asked dryly.

"No, there is something else more important that you need to know about cats." Perenelle leaned over with a grin and spoke in a staged whisper: "What they want, they will always eventually get; there's no use in denying them. Cats were made to be served. Spoil them, and they will be your greatest friend—especially when you feel sad. Treat them with respect, and they will be a fiercely loyal defender in times of trouble."

"That… was not subtle." _She is so telling me to adopt the cat_.

Perenelle cleared her throat. "Did I imply such a thing?" she asked innocently—too innocently, as she left the kitchens with a twinkle in her eye.

"Definitely," Cyrna muttered when the woman had left. She glared at the kitten, and it stared back at her with wide blue eyes.

o - o - o - o - o

"I hate you."

The kitten purred contentedly in reply from its perch on her shoulders where it had dozed off. She reached over and tickled the bottom of its ears, and she watched in delight as it flicked its ears and gave a little sneeze.

It's eyes peered at her with accusation clear in them. She smirked smugly, though she _did_ have to admit that it was undeniably adorable.

"You totally deserved that," she said to it with an affirming nod of her head.

It gave her another stink-eye before it huffed and burrowed deeper into the crook of her neck as it went back to sleep.

A wide grin stretched across her face as she arrived at the foot of the door that led to the dining room.

"Finally waking up, are we?" she smirked at the small furball as its nose twitched at the smell of the cooked food that was inside the room.

"We'll need a name for you," Cyrna murmured.

Blue eyes gazed into hers as it patiently waited for its name.

"You would be opposed to 'kitty' wouldn't you?"

It hissed.

 _Okay that's a no._ "Honestly, why is everyone so picky about names?" she complained peevishly. "A name is only as important as its function to label an object."

Cyrna swore that if cats could raise an eyebrow and look unimpressed, then that was exactly what it was currently doing.

"Fine." She heaved a sigh. If she was going to have to choose a name, she might as well choose it well. She lifted the cat from her shoulders and held it in front of her. Surprisingly, it didn't struggle in her hold, despite her knowledge that this probably wasn't the most comfortable position.

Eyes that shone with intelligence, its apparent rude and cold attitude towards everyone… its smug, sarcastic attitude. And right now, the look it was giving her reminded her so much of—

"How…" Cyrna hesitated as she realized that she couldn't very well name her cat so blatantly after a professor that might teach her in a year if she got into Hogwarts. "How about _Prince_?"

She was sure Snape would just write it off as a coincidence if he ever learnt of its name.

The kitten cocked its head as if thinking, and after flicking its tail and giving a lofty nod of approval, it wriggled out of her hold and stalked towards the wooden door. It scratched it once and gave Cyrna a look.

"Yes, yes," she muttered. The kitten fluffed out its white tail before it strolled in through the doors, head held high. She hid her smile at the sight as she thought of how accurate the name was in more ways than one.

Stepping past the large mahogany doors leading into the room, she gazed at Perenelle who greeted her with a soft smile and at Nicolas who smirked at her. The sunlight streaming in from the arched windows lit up the room, and as she walked over to the table with her new companion leading the way, she allowed a small smile to spread across her lips.


	5. The Letter from Hogwarts

**Chapter 5: The Letter from Hogwarts**

 _August 7th, 1990_

Time passes quickly with the amount of work Nicolas shoves at me. I think he is eager that he finally has someone to teach despite his grousing and growling. But dear Merlin. That man needs to calm down.

Do you recall that I thought that my time, at least for a few years here would be like a mini-vacation? A mini-vacation in a dangerous place, but a vacation nonetheless with the lack of responsibility and the reduced workload.

I mean, of course I was going to take measures to prepare myself for this world. But I was going to do so in a more relaxed pace. My mistake was when I had hesitantly asked Nicolas—as instructed by Perenelle—what I would need to know to succeed, he had somehow decided to take me on as his student. Or servant, really, if the number of teas and scones I have been asked to fetch for him is any indication.

He had me study everything from Wizarding customs, Pureblood etiquette, to the subjects that would be taught in the first year of most of the Wizarding schools. Then he assigns essays. Small essays, for sure, but there is _so much_. When I had finished writing my first reflection essay about the cure of boils, he had stared at me disbelievingly as I handed in the paper.

I hadn't understood his surprise until I came back from my lunch break and spotted two more tomes on my desk with a penned note saying _"Finish before dinner. – N"_

I had apparently finished too quickly for his taste, and so, deciding that I was intellectually capable of more, he had given me more work. So I do the work, then I look at my desk, and unsurprisingly, a new stack of tomes takes the place of the ones I had finished.

But work is ultimately just work. I am not unused to it. The quantity is not as bad as college and medical school, and the material is far easier to understand. After all, I haven't really gotten to the advanced theories of the subjects yet.

o - o - o - o - o

 _August 28th, 1990_

My second month in this universe is ending. With the unceasing workload preoccupying my mind, I feel like it hasn't really _truly_ sunken in that I am in a different universe. Sure, I _know_ it. That knowledge floats around somewhere in my head, but I feel like it has really hit me yet that I may never see those faces I had grown used to seeing.

I don't know how I feel about it. I think I would feel sad… but I wonder if I would feel sad because I miss them—their character, or if I would feel sad because I miss what they represented—normality, stability, a constant pattern in that dull life I had lived…

But enough about that. A larger problem has popped up. It's about the books. How do you tell someone about their deaths, or the fact that you know who is going to die and _when_ they will die?

I mean, should I even tell them about the books? I know I promised honesty, and while honesty doesn't equate to baring all your secrets to the other person, withholding information of this importance… withholding information that directly affects them… would that be considered dishonest?

o - o - o - o - o

 _September 15th, 1990_

I've just come to a realization that I have no idea how old I am—well—how old the _Laufeia_ is (it feels strange calling her by her name). It is entirely possible that I am too young or too old to be accepted into the first year of Hogwarts for the upcoming year.

I want to be accepted to Hogwarts. _They_ won't live much longer, so I need someplace to actually teach me how to use my magic. Besides, Hogwarts seems to be relatively safe as long as you are nowhere near Harry Potter at the end of the year. And while I know that I shouldn't hope to be in the same year as Harry Potter—that's _dangerous_ —there's a foolish part of me that hopes to be. I want to be able to experience the books as he did. If it gets too rough, too dangerous, I guess by my latter years I can try to escape to a different country.

Oh well, only time will tell. For now, I should just keep learning whatever I can.

Knowledge _is_ power, after all.

o - o - o - o - o

 _October 1st, 1990_

The Flamels give me strange looks when they think I am unaware. Not a bad sort of strange… just… strange. Their gazes linger on my hair then on my eyes. Maybe it is a strange combination of colour, but I don't think it is _that_ strange to warrant that many glances.

There's something that startles them, but how important it is, I'm not sure I know. I don't recall black hair and blue eyes ever being an issue at Hogwarts, or Wizarding Britain in general. I'm certain there is no mention of that in the books. So, even if it is important, it is not an issue that requires my immediate attention.

o - o - o - o - o

 _October 31st, 1990_

At breakfast, Nicolas declared that today was Halloween, and thus, as respect towards tradition, I could celebrate the holiday by having a day off. It feels weird not having anything to do. Perhaps I'll explore the mansion or the estate grounds—oh!

Prince, who's currently lying on my shoulder just gave a small meow of approval to the idea. Sometimes I wonder if he understands what I say or write. Now, he's tugging on the sleeves of my robes. He wants to leave.

He's still as impatient as he was three months ago—oh. He's bristling and glaring at me.

o - o - o - o - o

 _November 1st, 1990_

Let me tell you where Prince dragged me off to yesterday:

We first went to explore the grounds. The weather was quite a bit cooler than the last time I had been out, and though it was too cloudy for my liking, I was excited to finally leave the mansion. As soon as I stepped outside, I heard the quiet sounds of sea waves lapping the shores contrasted by the harsh echoes of gulls crying for food. The sea-scented breeze weaved through my hair, causing the strands to dance in all sorts of direction. A smile crept onto my face as nostalgia hit me: these were the scents and sounds that I had smelt and heard when Nicolas had first apparated me here.

Giving a contented sigh, I lay down on a patch of rain-scented grass and watched as Prince scampered around the meadows of the Flamel estate. The deep green forest that had framed the estate when I had first arrived was now a beautiful mix of yellows, reds, and browns. I closed my eyes and relaxed, probably for much longer than I thought, because when I woke up (due to soft meows of distress) a dusty and unhappy looking Prince with autumn leaves and twigs sticking out of its fur, filled my vision. The number of baths I would have to give him before his coat became white again…

An exasperated sigh.

I scooped the dust-covered furball into my arms before heading towards the sea. Following the stone-paved path down the hill, just for a moment, I wondered what the Professor would say if he saw that the creature I had named after him was now sporting Gryffindor colours—with it being covered in crimson-gold leaves. As if Prince could hear my thoughts, his ears flattened, and his soft purrs turned into a low growl before a snort (that sounded awfully like disgust) sounded. Giving me an offended look, it turned its head and snuggled into the crook of my arm, steadfastly determined to ignore me.

I continued down the path till I reached the line where grass became sparser and the presence of sand became more and more pronounced; I stared at the figure standing a distance away by the shoreline. Waves lapped onto his long robes, wetting it, but the figure did not seem disturbed by this. Donned in a (somewhat garish) purple cloak, embroidered with small stars and planets, that reached the ground, he seemed to be rather out of place in the tranquility that permeated this remote area.

My heart pounded, and my fingers trembled slightly in excitement as I slowly walked towards the still figure. Prince poked his head out and gazed with interest at the man that like him, had long silver hair—long enough to tuck into a simple gold braided belt that he wore around his waist. I was sure that this man, though he had not yet reacted, had already sensed me when I was a distance away, after all, very little could escape the notice of the greatest wizard of all times, Albus Dumbledore.

Now a few feet away from him, I stilled, hesitating on how I should approach him or if I even should.

"Time and time again, whenever I arrive at this shoreline, I'm always amazed by how little the scenery changes: the vast turquoise ocean adorned with a small handful of white speckles—the little sailboats—scattered along the horizon…" he gives a soft throaty chuckle as he continues to stare at the sea; his back facing me. "And the gulls…don't they always seem to be crying for food?"

At this, he turns around and I'm met with the full force of his light blue eyes that sparkle mischievously behind his half-moon spectacles that rests lightly on a very long, crooked nose. Still struck with the shock of suddenly meeting one of the major characters in the book series, I could only nod dumbly in response. This all felt so surreal. His eyes shone playfully as he reached out with an old, wizened hand to pet Prince, who surprisingly allowed him to do so.

He smiled as Prince purred in response to the attention he was getting. "And what's the name of this little one?" he asked, now focusing his attention back on me.

"Prince," I blurt out, "and I'm Cyrna." An awkward pause. "Um. Cyrna Raine." I wince at the pathetic introduction.

Dumbledore crouched down so that his twinkling eyes were now level with my wide eyes as he introduced himself. "Albus Dumbledore—" then in a playful, secretive whisper—"your future headmaster at Hogwarts." He winked mischievously at me before straightening up and heading towards the stone-paved path that lead up to the Flamel Mansion. After a few seconds of gaping at the departing figure, I hurried, as fast as I could while carrying a cat, to the old wizard.

"You think I'll get into Hogwarts?" I asked breathlessly as I ran up to his side.

His chuckled softly as he lay his weathered hand on my head in a firm touch. "Always remember that magic is neither good nor evil. It is our choices that make it Light or Dark. With great magic comes great responsibility—something I can only hope that you'll never forget."

I blinked at the seeming non sequitur before I nodded my head slowly. I didn't disagree with the statement after all.

The rest of the climb was done in silence, if you ignored Dumbledore's jovial humming. And before I knew it, I was at the foot of the mansion. The large oak doors opened, revealing Nicolas Flamel. Upon seeing his guest, his eyes lit up with excitement and a genuine smile—not like those smirks that he usually gives me—appeared on his face.

"Albus! It's been too long."

"Nicolas, my friend. Tell me, have you discovered any new sweets in the last 50 years?"

With the greetings out of the way, Nicolas stepped aside to allow us to enter the mansion. Once Dumbledore had passed by, his eyes fell on me, finally noticing my presence. Looking at Prince who was now a dusty brown, his lips twitched slightly in amusement before it settled back into the familiar smirk that he had bestowed upon me daily for the past months.

Used to feeling ridiculous in front of Nicolas, I looked back at him indifferently until he motioned for me to head up to the bathroom to clean up the mess I had allowed Prince to become.

Nothing really special happened after. By the time I had finished cleaning Prince (it took two solid hours), Dumbledore had already left (I suppose he couldn't leave school without its headmaster for too long). Though the mansion was big, there really wasn't too much to explore as most of the rooms were locked and warded.

We feasted for dinner, but despite the amazing food, there was tension that hadn't previously existed. The moments of silent contemplation and the worried looks exchanged between the couple was telling to what had just happened.

I had a fairly good guess as to why Dumbledore had visited.

o - o - o - o - o

 _December 26th, 1990_

It was Christmas yesterday, but it didn't feel like it. The tension from Dumbledore's last visit lingered and revealed itself in the silent stilted atmosphere at last night's feast. This morning, I had woken up to find a minuscule vial, just slightly taller than my thumbnail, sitting on my desk. It was filled to the brim with a scarlet liquid that seemed to glow and pulse with warmth and light—almost like a heartbeat. The note attached was simple but devastating as the reality of what the Flamels had chosen to do hit me.

 _"To cheat death once. Use wisely. – Flamels"_

Nicolas was a cautious man, some would say that he was suspicious to a fault. I had no doubt in my mind that he would never part with a sample of the Philosopher's Stone if he had planned to live for hundreds of years longer. _I knew this was coming._ I had planned for it to. But sometimes, things sounded far better on paper than in reality.

"Nicolas," I said to him meekly as we met up for my potions lesson. I loved learning from him; his passion for potions showed in every stir, in every slice of his knife. Watching him brew was like watching an artist paint a masterpiece. Soon, I too had grown fond of this subject. The fact that it was the most similar to the science I had learned in my old world was an added bonus. "Thank you for the present."

He grumbled and muttered something about insolent brats.

I snuggled with Prince on a comfy armchair that Perenelle had transfigured for me and studied the newest problem that Nicolas had given to me to solve. He said that even an idiot could do it. That it was expected of a first-year to be able to solve something as simple as this. I had my doubts on that, but nevertheless, I picked up my quill and the _Compendium of Flora and Fauna_.

 _The bite of a magical creature may leave behind a magical residue in the wound. It is because of this that sometimes, a simple charm may be insufficient in fully healing the wound. But potions, unlike charms, when ingested can interact directly with the patient's bloodstream to counter the magical residue. Propose a protocol to create a potion that can do this._

There were certainly several potions that had healing and wound-cleaning effects. But without something to test on, she wasn't sure the degree of effect they would have on the bite of a magical creature. She would have to find research papers from other potioneers who had tested this and read their results. _So much work._ She sighed and glared at Nicolas.

"Remember," he clicked his tongue when he felt her stare. "This is first-year material." The smug lilt in his sing-song voice did not help abate her irritation.

 _First-year material my ass_.

I spent most of my day quietly working away in the potions lab with Nicolas. Him brewing and snickering occasionally at me, and me focused on completing the puzzle so that I wouldn't get teased for the next few months on this. I ended up submitting a _very_ rough outline of the protocol to him before dinner and quickly ran out of the lab before he could read it.

During dinner, Perenelle told me with a smile too wide that she would start giving me practical training now that I had gone through the theory for all the charms, spells, and hexes for the first year syllabus. Nicolas stared at his wife for a moment before a smirk appeared on his face.

It was then I knew that my life was going to be miserable.

o - o - o - o - o

 _January_ _20_ _th_ _, 1991_

I had blacked out the moment I touched my bed. My body felt as if it had been tossed into a laundry machine then strained to dry in the dryer. Every muscle felt strained after my lesson with Perenelle.

Most of the spells for the upper years were not necessarily harder to cast. It was just that they required more magic than children in the lower years generally had. A month ago, upon a single glance, Perenelle had decided that the quantity of magic was not the issue. Rather, it was my shitty lack of control.

I performed _protego_ for her as she stalked around me, searching my shield for a fault. She made a noise of approval when she found none, but I heard her mutter to herself, "so much wasted magic. Though I guess that should suffice for now."

I assumed that there was still an issue with my control. Really Perenelle was quite possibly the least intimidating human being you could meet. The only thing she could possibly do was mother you to death. But _Professor_ Perenelle… _she_ was a different person altogether.

Simply put, she was downright terrifying.

"I want to see your reaction speed," she had told me today, then without a warning, she had fired a spell at me. The red light that arched towards me told me that it was probably _stupefy_ , and without a second thought, I darted to the side to avoid it—

—only to take a direct hit from _incarcerous_.

She stared at me with a hint of steel that told me to get back on my feet. "You're aren't a muggle anymore," she reprimanded, "Use spells to defend as well. Don't just dart around the room like a blithering fool."

 _Did I remember to say that she was scary?_

Honestly, even if Neville was as clumsy as the books made him out to be, she was certain that one week with Perenelle would have cured him of that.

o - o - o - o - o

 _January_ _29_ _th_ _, 1991_

I ducked to avoid a spell. A small explosion sounded behind me, destroying small pieces of the wall. My eyes widened. _Professor Perenelle Flamel was mental._ I darted to the side to miss the purple light and quickly screamed out the shielding charm as a familiar red light shot towards me. _I want Nicolas back. I will willingly do whatever ridiculous assignment he gives me._

Two explosions went off just outside my shield. _Did that woman actually cast Bombarda at me twice?_

"Your shield has improved."

Blast that woman for not even sounding slightly winded. My shield flickered as a stronger _bombarda_ hit it, and I reflexively dodged another spell aimed straight at my face. I was panting, completely out of breath, and though I still had enough magic, a solid half of my reserves were already gone.

I narrowed my eyes at my teacher as I fired a _stupefy_ at her. The spell hit a shield that had not been there a second ago. _Wordless and wandless magic_. That was what Perenelle was capable of. Nicolas probably was too. After living for so long, it made sense that they could both do it.

But how she seemed to have endless supplies of magic… I panted tiredly. _I have no clue_. Wizards only had their magical maturity once in their life. Their magic only got boosted once—it didn't matter how long you lived. Perenelle had told me that she only had a bit more magic than the average adult witch. So how was she— _oh._

I fell down, curled into myself, as gales upon gales of laughter tore from my mouth.

Perenelle made cutting motion with her hand and the laughter that had seized me stopped. "You lost concentration," she said.

"It's control isn't it," I said. My voice had a warble from the laughter. "I'm using more magic than I actually need to use because I lack precision and control when using my spells. That's why you're barely tired even though I'm exhausted."

The smile lit her eyes, and the genuine pleasure and approval that shone in her gaze caused some part in my chest to flutter warmly.

"I was wondering when you'd finally notice. As Nicolas guessed, you took less time than I expected. He'll be insufferable for the next few days when I tell him this."

I could feel a pleased blush rising to my cheeks. Really. Blast this pale skin.

"So the next step is to learn control?" I question.

She cocks her head. "No. I just wanted you to understand that quantity without control means nothing. What we will be working on next is a more pressing issue."

I wonder what could possibly be more pressing.

"I'm going to teach you how to hide your magic."

There is a serious glint in her eyes that unnerve me. And without a doubt, I know that this may possibly be the hardest thing I will learn from her in the foreseeable future.

o - o - o - o - o

 _January_ _30_ _th_ _, 1991_

Cyrna woke to a sound that she had hoped she would never need to wake to again. The sharp rapping on her window pane began at six in the morning. Unwilling, and this time to some degree, unable to get up to due her sore muscles from yesterday's training, Cyrna could only groan in response. Like before, she burrowed deeper into the pillows, and blearily, she pulled the blankets over her head to muffle out the noise.

The tapping paused.

 _Thank Merlin_.

Then the tapping recommenced a moment later accompanied with an undeniably bird-like twittering.

 _What the hell is happening? Why is it always MY window during the MORNING!?_

Cyrna growled in frustration. Surprisingly, Prince, perhaps taking pity on its owner, wiggled out from under the blankets and leapt onto her desk. It peered out the windows and blinking confusedly at the unexpected guest, it nudged the windows open.

A small tawny owl with bright yellow eyes quickly flew in and hovered above Cyrna's head for a moment before landing on the pillow. It puffed its feathers up when it saw that it was being ignored. With a flash of irritation, it dove into the mass of raven-black hair and nipped the ear of the sleeping human.

"Ow!" Cyrna bolted upright and smacked at the thing that had bit her. The owl avoided her hand, and with a patronizing stare waved its leg at her. Fully awake, she stared at the letter attached to the owl's right leg. While she didn't know Laufeia's birthday, she did know that today was her own birthday. What was the coincidence that they had the same birthdays?

Muttering a quick apology to the owl, she eagerly snatched the letter and opened it.

…

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Ms. Raine,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts  
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all  
necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no  
later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

…

She was unaware of Prince offering a dead mouse to the owl as a 'thank you' for delivering the message or the look of indulgence that Prince gave her once the owl was gone. The next thing the Flamels heard, waking them from their sleep, was a loud whoop of joy followed by a thundering sound as Cyrna hastily clambered down the stairs.


	6. Decisions

**Chapter 6: Decisions**

Cyrna sprinted down the stairs, aching muscles forgotten, and rushed to the dining room to share the news with the Flamels. She halted as she flung open the tall mahogany doors; there was no one here. The velvet coloured drapes covering the high-arched windows had not yet been opened to let in the morning light. There were no dishes or food set on the table, and the creaks and groans from the wooden floor as she padded across the room barefoot seemed to ring much more loudly in the still of the cold morning air. Where was everyone?

She glanced at the ornate mantel clock that sat above the currently inactive fireplace. 6:05 a.m. Ah. No wonder no one was down yet. Breakfast was usually at 7:30.

With her excitement slowly dissipating, the awareness of how stiff her body felt made itself known with vengeance. She hobbled over to one of the dining chairs, sat down heavily, and hoped that Perenelle would not be teaching her today. Cyrna rotated her shoulders and stretched, feeling weirdly satisfied at the quiet pops and clicks heard as she loosened her back muscles. She had moved on to head rotation exercises to alleviate her neck pain when she became aware of approaching footsteps.

"You know, if you just wanted to start your lessons earlier, all you needed to do was ask, and I would have given you a few more tomes to add to your readings," Nicolas said dryly with a hint of annoyance. "No need to wake every living creature with your shriek."

The thought of more work filled her with a certain amount of fear. She laughed nervously.

"Has something good happened?" asked Perenelle. Judging from the way her eyes sparked with suppressed enthusiasm, Cyrna had a vague notion that she had already guessed what had happened this morning.

Silently with a huge grin, she held up the opened envelope with the Hogwarts crest.

"I'm surprised they want you in their school," Nicolas said.

Cyrna smirked. She knew Nicolas enough to be able to see the teasing glint in his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips as he suppressed his smile.

As if knowing that his true intentions had been discovered, Nicolas harrumphed and roughly ruffled her hair. "I had better hear from Albus that you are the best in Potions for your year."

"I can do that for you," Cyrna answered calmly, but Nicolas was able to discern the excited sparkle in her eyes. "Where would I be able to get the owl to reply to the letter? Oh, and when can I go to Diagon Alley to get the school supplies?"

 _How does she know about Diagon Alley?_ Nicolas frowned in confusion. There were no books that specifically mentioned that that was where the majority of students got their Hogwarts supplies. If anything, there was a perfectly fine area near their estate that would have all the supplies she would need. Why Diagon Alley specifically?

"Unfortunately I don't think you can go there quite this moment, my dear… you see," Perenelle hesitated, her gaze shifting to Nicolas, "we would have to arrange a portkey for you, and right now we are a tad bit busy since we've got a package that we need to deliver to Albus before summer starts."

Nicolas watched Cyrna's reaction carefully and his frown deepened when he read the resignation and apprehension in her eyes. Quietly, she replied to Perenelle, telling her that she didn't mind waiting till they were ready. The seriousness in which she had answered was disconcerting for a matter as simple as putting off a trip. It was almost as if she understood the situation that Albus and he had planned, almost as if she knew—

— _as if she knew about the Philosopher's Stone._

o - o - o - o - o

"I'd like a word with you," he said lightly to Cyrna as he waved his wife out of the room. Once she had left, he silently warded the rooms. Something unpleasantly cold twisted in his chest as he stared at the child that he had come to grow fond of.

"I'll just be blunt with you. Why do you know about Diagon Alley? And now that I think of it, when we first met, you asked me if Albus had contacted me… _A strange thing to ask_ , I would think." The blankness that fell over her expression was telling in itself. _She's hiding something._ His fists tightened at his side. "And judging from your reaction to what my wife just told you," he sneered, "it's like you knew this would happen."

She stared at the man in front of her, _her mentor_. She had never thought they would get along, but as time passed, they had developed a rapport that she treasured. She liked and respected the quiet alchemist with the brilliant mind and dry humour. She liked how he made sense but was still undeniably warm in a spiky way. Perenelle's kindness was not something she could see herself comprehending in the near future, but Nicolas' suspicion and wary kindness was something that she _could_ comprehend. Every time his weathered face would wrinkle with grudging approval and pride, a little part of her warmed and trembled with satisfaction.

Just as it did the opposite now. The sneer filled with genuine disappointment was one she had not seen for ages. Her mouth tightened and her features blanked from the shock. She cursed herself for the tremble she could feel rising to her lips. At that moment, she detested herself. Not only for her stupidity, but she detested that she had given this couple the ability to impact her in this way.

Had she become dependent on them? Since _when_ had she needed _anyone_. Her relationship with her peers was a favour for a favour. Use them, give them something of value, then disappear. It was a clean and neat deal. Since when had a person's disappointment mattered even the slightest bit to her?

"I'm not certain what you mean," Cyrna replied coldly. Her eyes flashed with apprehension as she readied her stance in case of an attack. She knew that he knew she was lying. Without meaning to, her magic welled up inside of her, ready to defend.

 _Her secrets were hers and hers alone._

Nicolas stared at the tiny child who seemed to think she would be able to survive if he made a genuine effort to attack her. Then again, he wasn't too sure if he _could_ attack with an intent to harm. He cursed Perenelle for this situation. _But he hadn't protected the stone for this long to allow it to be stolen._ His gaze turned flinty. "Do you think me a fool, girl?"

The stupid child blinked. "Never!" She sounded so righteously indignant on his behalf that he was stunned to silence. Calming himself down, he took another look at the child and saw the familiar furrow of her brows whenever he asked her an idiotic question—they weren't actually idiotic questions. They were just questions that were so easy to her that _she_ thought he was asking them as a way to mock her intelligence. He wasn't. But he would secretly admit to asking them to rile her up and ruffle her feathers. The way her brows furrowed and the way her posture straightened as she puffed out her chest slightly was—must he admit it? Adorable.

And that was the exact posture the child took at this very moment.

"I have never trusted lightly," he said bitterly. His voice severe in the implication of what he believed to be the consequence of this trust.

She flinched from his voice before meeting his eyes again with a hardened glint. "Do not dare attempt to guilt me." She feels cold as she says these words. Her heart beats faster, but she swears that the blood does not reach her body. But hasn't life always been like this? She mentally takes a step back from the situation and calmly evaluates the potential loss and gain. Whether she tells or not, she is sure that this will result in a setback, if not a termination, of her relationship with the Flamels. "I never asked for your trust," she hisses quietly, "and while I may owe you many things, everyone has secrets that they want to keep—you have no right to demand or guilt me into sharing them."

"No one should have known. The fact that you knew and _pretended_ that you _didn't_ is concerning at the very least. The impact this knowledge could have on the Wizarding world…" He pins her down with a frantic glance that conveys to the fool his distress. "This isn't the sort of information I can turn a blind eye to you knowing. I _need_ to know how you know and what you are going to do with it."

She knows that the success of the plan hinged on its secrecy and that Nicolas has every right to want to know how _she_ knows. And despite the fact that her body feels rather numb right now, there is a part of her that twinges unpleasantly at the sight of distress in her mentor's gaze.

But ultimately, she is selfish. She doesn't want to risk her security. _Not yet, at least_. Could she trust the Flamels not to change the future once they knew? She couldn't imagine anyone who would be willing to die for a plan that ultimately did little to prevent Voldemort from coming back.

One of the points she had never been perfectly clear on in the books had been whether the Flamels would have been so accommodating with the plan to safe-keep the Stone if they had known that it would cause their deaths; they had only made their decision to destroy the Stone after it had became apparent, not just simple suspicion, that Voldemort had been after it. There was a difference between preparing for the worst-case scenario, the destruction of the Stone, while expecting that the probability of it happening was low or unexpected, and preparing for the worst-case scenario knowing that it would happen. Did the Flamels fall into the latter, or had they been making and storing the elixirs as an act of caution with the mindset that Dumbledore's plan had a fair chance of success?

She was still in her thoughts when the irritation and anger in her mentor's eyes seem to disappear. He folds in on himself; his back hunches even more so than usual. _He is weary_ , she realizes. "You stupid, stupid child," he murmurs as he stares at her with a sorrow and disappointment so great that even the numbness cannot quite take away the biting cold in her chest. She decides right then and there that she doesn't like the way this feels.

It's not anything but the disgusting cold that makes her do what she is going to do—or so she tells herself.

o - o - o - o - o

"I'm not here for the Stone, Nicolas."

"What else would anyone be here for?" He chuckled tiredly. "Even Albus was only really here for the Stone."

"I'm _not_ here for the Stone." Cyrna stared steadily at her mentor, trying to convey her sincerity. She forced herself to relax her posture.

He made a noise of disbelief. Her lips twist down with displeasure at the trust she has lost. _Why does it matter?_ But she hates that cold more than anything in this very moment.

"I'll—" she hesitates then resigns herself. She will not lie to them, but this is a secret she is not sure she wants to share yet. "An unbreakable vow. I'll do it. Any vow that doesn't include me telling you how I know about the Stone, I will swear on my life."

A vow is dangerous; an unbreakable vow even more so. But this is the only solution she sees that is able to repair what she had with her mentor without giving up her secret. She rationalizes to herself that she gains far more in staying with the Flamels than being obliviated and left in some random village.

"On your life?" Her mentor echoes with disbelief.

She nods tightly.

The resolve in her eyes is genuine, Nicolas observed as he approached the child. She holds her stance, trusting him not to attack her. The fact that she is willing to offer a vow sworn on her life in exchange for keeping her secret only makes him more curious about what she is hiding. The fact that she is even willing to offer a vow of that caliber…

Her eyes are cold, but when he ruffles her hair and her eyes tear up slightly, a small spark of hope tentatively peering through the icy cracks, he realizes that she has chosen _them_. Even if her entire story had been a lie and she _had_ been working with evil to obtain the Stone, with the power she is giving him right now, it is clear that she is choosing to side with him and his wife.

He wished it didn't need to come down to a vow. But ultimately, there was more at stake than whatever he and his wife may feel for this child. He gives her another firm pat on the head, and the quiet sniffle he hears melts the cold that had prickled his chest.

"I assume you are intelligent enough to make a vow that will satisfy me?" he asked dryly as he removed his hand to on a chair to watch her.

She scoffs, though really, she is more than relieved than anything else. "Of course," she answered. Her eyes narrow in thought at she thinks of the best wording. "I swear upon my life that I am not here to obtain the Philosopher's Stone or the information on how to replicate the Stone. I swear that I will not knowingly endanger the Stone, nor will I share my knowledge of the Stone and of the plan to those who are not a part of the plan." She cocks her head at her mentor wondering if it is thorough enough. He nods his head, but she is confused by the regret she sees in his eyes. "So mote it be," she concludes.

"So mote it be," he answers.

She felt her magic rise up in roar before settling down moments later, signifying that the oath was bound and functioning.

Nicolas stared at the child—his student, and he sighs a heavy sigh. "You are a fool." _What idiot willingly vows on their life?_

The child's answering smile as she studied him was bittersweet with a hint of wistfulness. "It seems that I am. In more ways than one."

o - o - o - o - o

Months had passed since the confrontation she had with Nicolas. Today, breakfast was cheerful with the Flamels' familiar banter, and lunch was as well. It seemed that once they had resolved to follow the plan, they were more or less at peace with their mortality. Still, Cyrna was no closer to her decision.

She heaved a heavy sigh as she dragged herself up to her room to finish her work. Usually after lunch, she would have brewing sessions with Nicolas in his lab. However, he had cancelled them today and had instead assigned her another potion related puzzle to solve.

The large white pieces of snowflakes floating down from the sky to accumulate on her windowsill had drawn her attention from her work. Her fingers tapped irregular beats on her desk as she wondered if she should tell them her secret. The deadline was fast approaching for her. If she told them too late, she mind as well not tell them at all for what little good it would do. Her safety mattered the most. But, she rationalized logically, if the Flamels were removed from her life as she was now, she would certainly lose more than she would gain. Where would she go if they died? She was literally getting free meals, shelters, and education here.

 _And really,_ the Flamels had _such_ a small part to play in the books, would changing their death really affect the results _that_ much? Besides, it wasn't really ever clarified how much longer they lived after the Stone was destroyed. Dumbledore had told Harry in the book that they would live long enough to sort their affairs—but what did _that_ even mean? A week? A year? Several years?

She stood up abruptly from her desk. The war really only affected Wizarding Britain. Surely if they moved elsewhere before Harry's fourth or fifth year… _why, that would be ideal for me_.

That was _definitely the way_ to maximize her benefit. It was risky to change anything in the books, but if she had to change _one_ thing, this was certainly the most advantageous move she could do. In the grand scheme of things, the Flamels had been minor characters whose importance had left the series long before Voldemort had resurrected. It wasn't like she was changing the death of a major character—say Sirius, for example.

Yes. _Yes._ A calculated risk. She could do this. There was definitely more benefit in warning them of what would happen.

She ignores the incomprehensible feeling of relief that settles when she realizes that her promise that she has given to the Flamels will not be compromised in any way. And most steadfastly, she ignores the spark of hope that seems to grow in size and in warmth as she makes her decision.

o - o - o - o - o

The fireplace was on and its flames flickered gently. The floating candles coupled with the setting sun painted a warm glow on the dining table that was filled with an assortment of foods. Cyrna eyed the roast lamb that Perenelle, with a knowing smile, had placed in front of her. Cyrna responded with a sheepish grin; it had only taken a few weeks for Perenelle to figure out that she was in love with roast meat. Being a student in college had meant that she was on a time limit and a budget when it came to things like cooking, so roasts had gradually become a delicacy to her.

Dinner continued on with amicable conversation occasionally interrupting the comfortable silence. Prince purred happily as it nibbled away at the food his owner had set aside for him. His ears twitch when he sensed his owner's unrest. Instinctively, he clambered up to her lap and with a bit of effort, he stood up on his hind legs to reach his owner.

His human is clever. She lowers her head in response to his sudden clambering. Delighted, he gives his owner a firm lick on the nose. That was what his ma had always done for him when he was young and afraid. His human is clearly startled by this—he has never claimed to understand these strange creatures—but the smile that stretches across her face and the gentle vibration of her body as she laughs satisfies him. He has accomplished his goal. He gives himself a nod and scampers off to finish his food.

"There's something I wanted to tell the both of you," Cyrna said once dinner was done. She stares at Nicolas, and she just _knows_ she has chosen correctly when his eyes warm. She turned to Perenelle. "Nicolas asked me how I knew about the Philosopher's Stone," Cyrna paused when she saw the glint of surprise in her eyes. _Nicolas hadn't told her_. _Was he waiting for me to confront her at my own time?_

Something about that thought touches some part of her.

"Anyways, I've decided to tell you how I know about it," her gaze darts to Nicolas. "That was what I was hiding from you."

He gave her a long stare, then finally, he averts his gaze to exchange a glance with his wife. She nodded and so he asks, "Do you want us to swear an oath?"

"No," spoke Cyrna before she could think. She blinked confusedly at her own response. Slightly put-off by her own response, she continued on slower, "No, your word is good enough."

She didn't catch the soft smile that Nicolas directed at her nor the beaming look of joy that transformed Perenelle's face.

"Didn't you ever wonder why I didn't panic more than I should have when I arrived in this world, why I showed little wariness towards you after I knew who you were, why I didn't seem weirded out by the idea of magic?" started Cyrna, "Well, that has to do with my secret: this world, this reality, the people I've met so far… the both of you also existed in my world—"

There is no doubt in the couple's expression as they listen to her story this time. They only stare at her encouragingly, and Cyrna gulps down the warble that threatens to bubble out from her throat as she continues.

"—well, you existed but you weren't alive in the strictest sense. I know you, like how I know about the Stone, Dumbledore, Riddle, and the Boy Who Lived—just to name a few—as characters from a book series named after the protagonist, _Harry Potter_. I know what will happen to you and the Stone if you continue with your plans, and before I told you my secret, I knew with certainty the events that would take place in the next seven years… so I feel as if I should give you an option; do you want to know what will happen to you and the Stone if you follow Dumbledore's plan?"

A part of her held her breath, praying that they would reject her offer, but a larger part of her chanted, _"take it, take it, take it."_

Nicolas stared at his student; his eyes widened as the implications of what she said finally hit him. _No wonder why she had been so tight-lipped about her secret_. To think she didn't even ask us for a vow…

He had always been a terribly curious man, and now judging by the urgent gleam in his student's eyes, he somehow morbidly knew that his participation in this plan would result in his death. After teaching Cyrna for more than half a year, he knew her well enough to know that she would never share something of this scale for any other reason but death. He looked at Perenelle. Did she realize the likely consequences that had pushed Cyrna to act this way? No. She still had not realized yet, but her eyes conveyed to him that she would do as she had always done for the past hundred years—she would continue to follow his lead.

His eyes hardened with determination as he met Cyrna's inquisitive gaze.

"No, I don't need to know what happens to me or the Stone. I already have a fair idea of what will happen." He hesitated when he saw the child's expression darken with disappointment. "But, can you tell me… what happens in the end? Will this plan help prevent Voldemort from rising?"

His breath caught in his throat when he saw Cyrna gaze at him, for an instance, with an emotion that was frighteningly close to pity before it disappeared to its usual look of calculation as she thought of the best answer. "Maybe," she said finally.

"Maybe," he echoed. _So my existent was that negligible in the grand scheme of things._ A smile quirked on his lips. How nice that after hundreds of years of being hunted for the Stone, he could finally fade into anonymity in death.

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you _anything?_ " She didn't know why the little spark of warmth was shrinking. _Why was she pushing to tell?_

After seeing that Cyrna had not even once grieved for the people she had lost in coming to this world, Nicolas had accepted that she would never develop any connection with them either. He thought, despite his wife's words, that she would never learn sympathy. He wondered if she could hear the plea in her own voice as she asked him the question.

Perhaps Perenelle was right. _Maybe humans could change for the good_. He reaches across the table and ruffles her hair fondly.

Something in her breaks a bit, and despite the fact that her mentor never asks for the information, she finds herself telling him everything that she believes to be important. _He needs to understand that they will die._

"Your plan will do nothing to prevent Voldemort's resurrection. He will rise again; it is fated to happen. However, this plan does delay his rebirth, which I guess gives Harry more time to prepare; it'll also make Voldemort easier to kill—once he has risen—compared to if he had managed to get his hands on the Stone… it's never explicitly written what would have happened if you chose not to… If you hide it really well after this year is over and move across the ocean, it might not change the story all too much."

o - o - o - o - o

In the bedroom, ready to turn in for the night, Nicolas caught Perenelle's gaze. "Do you have any suspicions as to what will happen if we follow Albus' plans?"

"We'll die, won't we?" said Perenelle softly, "I didn't really catch on until the end though." They lay down together on the bed in silence. "I _will_ follow you even if you choose death, Nicolas, and perhaps, this is the best choice we can make to contribute to the future war that Albus believes is coming. We have been alive for too long. It is unnatural."

His eyes close in thought. "It was strange to see my apprentice grow into an old man much like myself."

"And Cyrna might lose her advantage if we deviate from the story so soon."

"Yes, there is that as well," Nicolas sighs.

He had once chosen the world over his son. _And what a painful decision that had been._ But now, he realizes, he could choose to save both the world _and_ the child that he has grown fond of. The decision was easy if he thought of it that way:

"I propose that we follow the story, right down to every last detail that Cyrna can remember."

The bedroom was dark with only the moonlight streaming from the windows as their source of light. The occasional tapping of the branches of a nearby tree on their window was often accompanied by the howling of the cold winter wind. It was strange to both the Flamels that this would be one of their last winters, but neither felt anxious nor upset about this fact.

Perenelle's mother had warned her when her husband had created the Stone that the beauty of life was in the fleetingness, the spontaneity, and the thrill of adventure. Though Perenelle did not regret living her unnaturally long life, she recognized that it had been a long time since she had felt the thrill of her mortality. Living so long… she hadn't realized that she had changed so much over the years…

Knowing that you could spend eternity on the earth had eventually caused her to become detached, in some ways, in her interactions with others and with nature. Now that she realized that her time was finite, her eyes opened, and she beheld the beauty of ordinary things. She saw the world painted in brighter and sharper colours, and once again found joy in the simple things of nature, such as watching the snow float down in fluffy chunks from the sky to collect on the branches of the tree outside her window. She couldn't remember the last time she had stopped to marvel at the beauty of life before Cyrna had arrived and brought some of the colours back. Perhaps it was for this reason that she had been so insistent on keeping her.

"Then that is what we will do." Perenelle's lips twisted into a content smile at her last thought before she fell asleep:

 _Death as the next great adventure…that's what you told me…_ _right, mother?_


	7. A Trip to Diagon Alley

**Chapter 7: A Trip to Diagon Alley**

She winced when she heard a loud _thwak_ as the book, _Standard Book of Spells, Grade_ _3,_ she had chucked across the room in a rare show of anger hit the wall before it fell with a _thump_ onto her bed.

Nothing had been going her way. Not her lessons, and certainly not the plan that she had so carefully created with the Flamels' survival in mind. Her mind was scattered, unable to focus on anything except for one thing. While this didn't affect her lessons with Nicolas too much, her lessons with Perenelle were suffering. It was hard to practice how to hide her magic, something that required a great deal of control and precision, when she was perpetually unfocused.

Outside lessons, Perenelle was still the kind, understanding, elderly woman who had found and healed her; but as a teacher, Cyrna knew that she must have been disappointed; there was probably nothing more discouraging to a teacher as someone who did not improve. Thus when Perenelle, just last Monday, had pulled her to the side to tell her that lessons would be canceled until she could concentrate again, she had accepted the news with shame before apologizing to her mentor for her lack of focus; then, she proceeded to wallow in her feelings of inadequacy for the next while.

Of course, Perenelle had not broken it to Cyrna quite that bluntly, in fact, she had said it as gently as possible; still, that was pretty much the message she had conveyed. After all, practicing how to hide one's magic was a form of wandless magic, and practicing wandless magic without full concentration was not only a set up for failure but also a recipe for danger to both herself and the other residents of the mansion.

So why was her mind so scattered? It was simple. There was a problem that Cyrna Raine couldn't understand—couldn't even begin to comprehend.

 _How could they—why would the Flamels choose to follow the story even when they knew that the consequence was death? Why would someone as rational as Nicolas walk towards their death?_

Antagonism and wariness defined Nicolas when they first met. If not for Perenelle's kindness, she could easily picture the Flamels living another few years in solitude. Cyrna was certain that the cause of his behaviour stemmed from the issues that came along with the Philosopher's Stone, and she knew that it would be logical to conclude that this was probably the reason why he had abandoned the world to live alone with Perenelle for hundreds of years.

 _Why would he be willing to die for a world he's given up on? Why would he die for a world that has wronged him?_

And to make it worse, it couldn't be that he _wanted_ to die a natural death. If that were the case, then he could have easily done so in the past hundred years. All he needed to do was to stop taking the elixir of life. _Why choose death if you did not want to die?_

She wasn't willing to die for this world, or for her past world—and they hadn't even wronged her.

Cyrna shook her head in confusion. Altruism, in any form, was simply irrational. What was the point of saving the world if you died in the process? Was it for glory—to have your name and your heroic deed engraved in history? That sounded vain, besides, it wasn't like you could reap the rewards or enjoy that satisfaction once you were dead. You wouldn't experience the peace after the war.

A situation of high loss, and zero gain. The worst scenario imaginable.

Well, Cyrna mentally backtracked, perhaps not _zero_ gain. She had heard of people sacrificing their lives for their children, their family, _for people they loved_ —to die so that those you loved could live. It was a romantic notion, she supposed. Still not one that she could comprehend, but one where the motive was kind of reasonable. However, it wasn't like this motive could be applied to the Flamels when all was said and done, right?

Surely everyone the Flamels cared for had already died, that was one of the cons to immortality.

She should be happy, ecstatic really, that she had withheld her promise of honesty to the Flamels with no repercussions. It should have been a win-win situation for her. If they chose to follow the plan, then she would keep her foresight. If they didn't, well, she had already decided that the pros far outweighed the cons.

She should be celebrating, jumping for joy. But she wasn't. A tiny piece of ice had been lodged in her chest since her mentor had announced his decision. No matter what she did, that unpleasant coldness simply refused to disappear. _It was annoying._

o - o - o - o - o

Strands of raven-coloured hair fluttered gently in the breeze that entered from the opened Victorian glass windows whose velvet drapes were pulled back by a simple yet elegant golden cord embellished tastefully with small pieces of garnets. The silhouette of a child leaning against a tall, dusty bookshelf that stretched from the ground to the ceiling was darkened by the warm hues of magentas and oranges that were awash the normally cerulean summer sky.

The soft glow from the ornate waxed candles that rested on a nearby antique writing desk coupled with the last golden rays of the sunset lit up the kind face of Perenelle Flamel who had come to the library in search of her missing student.

"Cyrna."

The figure shifted slightly, reacting to its name, and slowly turned around to face the speaker.

"Perenelle," she hesitated, "Has the Headmaster left with the package already?"

Perenelle stood in silence as she attempted to read the emotions that flashed quickly through Cyrna's eyes, and found, to her surprise, that it seemed as if Cyrna didn't actually want to hear the answer. She gave a slight smile before speaking, "The plan is in motion."

The child stares at her with a frighteningly blank look. "I see."

Perenelle loves this child, but she is also aware that her husband, for some reason, understands her far better than she can. _He_ would have been able to interpret this current look.

"So why are you here? Not that you can't be," Cyrna corrected hastily. "But it's a bit strange for you to seek me out in the hours after dinner, and I also don't have any more lessons with you at this time," she added.

"That's exactly the reason why I'm here. We're resuming the lessons."

"I still can't—"

"It doesn't matter anymore. I've given you time to get your focus together, but now, I've realized that my time to teach you is numbered. Your magic has been growing stronger and stronger as your physical body has healed, and now," Perenelle's eyes take a far-away gaze as she pools magic into her eyes in order to see the _auras_ of magic. She is always startled by the sheer amount of silver strands that surround the child like a warm blanket. "Now your magic is almost tangible in the air. Any witch or wizard with a fraction of my skill would be able to see it."

She feels gratified when her student's eyes widen slightly in understanding. "Yes. As you've figured out, it is dangerous to walk around the Wizarding World with that level of magic left unmastered and unhidden; you'll attract all sorts of attention—including the wrong kind. You've got to be able to hide a portion of your magic when you enter Hogwarts… unless you _want_ to garner attention?"

Cyrna furiously shook her head.

"As I thought," sighed Perenelle as she focused on the determined crystal eyes that gazed back at her. "I've already spoken to Nicolas, and he has agreed to hand his time over to me. No more books. I'll have you mastering the ability to hide your magic before we step a foot out this mansion. I'm not letting you go anywhere populated or anywhere near the children at Hogwarts with so little control over your magic, so you'll just have to bear with muscle pains for the next few weeks until you develop control." Perenelle's eyes lost all the usual gentleness as it took on a steely glint, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Cyrna gives a sharp nod.

"Then, your training starts tomorrow," Perenelle said, pleased with Cyrna's response. "Goodnight."

Perenelle pats her gently on the head before she leaves— _honestly, Cyrna thinks, what is with the Flamels and pats?_

"Goodnight," she echoes in response. And once again, she is left alone in her quiet sanctuary with nothing but dusty old tomes surrounding her.

o - o - o - o - o

"Are you ready?" asked Perenelle anxiously as she clucked and scuttled around Cyrna frantically like a mother hen, "Do you have your pouch of galleons?"

"Yes, I—" began Cyrna.

"Your portkey there and your portkey back?"

"Yes—"

"Oh! Do you remember the words to activate the portkey? Do you have your list of what you need to buy? Oh, what happens if you get lost! Are you sure you—"

"Dear Merlin, Perenelle!" exclaimed Nicolas, exasperated. "Cyrna can handle herself out there. She's an adult, not some child that requires fussing over! You've trained her well, she'll be able to hide her magic. She knows the details of Diagon Alley from the books, so I presume that she'll be able to find her way around?" Nicolas' gaze shifted to Cyrna for confirmation.

"Yes, I should be fine," she shares a small smile with the alchemist.

"And if something happens?" prompted Nicolas to appease his wife's worry.

"I'll portkey back immediately."

"We could always come with you! I'll just grab several Polyjuice Potio—" started Perenelle.

"No, no. Really. It's fine. I'll have Prince with me," reassured Cyrna. Prince flicks his tail lazily in response.

"And there you have it," finished Nicolas as he herds Perenelle away from his slightly overwhelmed student. With a wave of his hand, the tall mahogany entrance doors open.

The afternoon summer sunlight streamed in through the doors, momentarily blinding Cyrna with its brightness. _She is excited_. Today she will get to explore one of the locations of the Harry Potter universe that she has always dreamed of. And if everything goes according to her plan, she may just be able to meet the titular character of the book series.

She had spent hours with Nicolas debating about the benefit and consequences of coming into direct contact with the Boy Who Lived. To summarize, they both decided that she should establish herself as a friend, if not an acquaintance. Harry Potter was a secretive character by nature. He was outspoken and courageous, but his innermost thoughts were shared only to his friends and allies. Nicolas had proposed that what if, what _if_ , the books were _wrong_. What if she was in the universe of the books, but the books were not a completely accurate retelling as to what would actually happen in this particular universe? He challenged her assumption that everything would play out exactly according to the books.

She had no defense against that since she _had_ just assumed, without even a second thought, that she was in the books. She still thought Nicolas was thinking too complicatedly, but she was never against an extra dose of caution.

They decided that the best way to keep track of the story would be to keep track of Harry Potter, and with his nature, she would have to be a friend. If it seemed that the story was actually being followed, she could always just cut their "friendship" and hide in the shadows until the war was over.

"Come along now, Prince," said Cyrna cheerfully as she stretched her arms out as an invite.

Without any second thought, Prince hopped into his human's arms and quickly curled himself into the most comfortable position. His human rarely ever offered to carry him, so he was certainly not going to turn down an offer for being pampered by whatever momentary burst of affection had overtaken his human. He purred in contentedness.

Initially, he had wondered if he had made the right choice in choosing this human to be his. There had been a disturbing lack of pats and attention given to him in the beginning; of course, his human—as expected of his chosen, he thought proudly—had stepped up her performance after he had given a couple of plaintive mews accompanied by desolate eyes whenever the elderly couple had been present in the same room as his human.

As he lay cuddled safely in his human's arms, watching as she touched the silver bracelet on her wrist and uttered, "Diagon Alley," he reflected back on how lonely his life had been before she had saved him. He had not noticed it then—being too used to solitude, but now… now that he had experienced such kindness, he knew that he would not be able to go back to living the life of a stray. So as he felt the strange sensation of being pulled somewhere behind his navel, he swore, with all the innocence and gratitude a young cat could have, that he would do his utmost to become a familiar that would make his human proud.

o - o - o - o - o

Feeling slightly nauseous as she opened her eyes, Cyrna let out a relieved sigh when she saw a tiny, grubby-looking pub sitting in front of her. _The Leaky Cauldron_.

Quickly, she double-checked to see if her magic was tightly under her control. It was. Just as she touched the door handle, she decided to check once again—just to be certain. It was still under control. Great, she thought as she cracked the door open and quietly slipped into the bar.

No Harry Potter. _Well, not much I can do. Let's check the next location._

She tugged her hood on tighter and silently weaved through the shadows, determined not to draw any attention to herself. Cyrna held her breath until she had successfully slipped out into the small, walled courtyard at the back of the bar. Her fingers shook minutely in excitement as she reached out her hand to tap the dilapidated brick wall three times, "Three up, then two across, then…" she murmured as she recalled the instructions.

The bricks she touches quivers. Then a small hole, starting from the middle of the wall, appears before it grows wider and wider—forming _the_ archway she has dreamed of stepping through multiple times in her childhood.

Prince looked up at his human when he felt the arms that had been holding him tighten. His blue eyes curiously observing the glassy sheen of tears that coats his human's eyes as she gazes at the cobbled street that was lined with an assortment of boutiques. But she isn't upset, he can tell, so he doesn't see the need to give her nose a lick.

Cyrna's heart thudded loudly in her chest as she took small steps towards the archway. Her tentative steps soon lengthen, her heart beats even faster, and before she knew it, she was running full speed with the widest smile on her face past the archway into the world of Harry Potter. Any thoughts of remaining hidden took a temporary leave from her mind as she scampered around the streets, exploring the stores with childish wonder and joy.

 _This. This was the world of Harry Potter she had grown up loving as a child_.

It had hit her multiple times when she was in Devon with the Flamels that she was stuck in the world of Harry Potter, but perhaps, because they had been unfamiliar characters in the series, it had not struck that deeply in her. But here, in one of the most iconic locations of the series, she could no longer deny it: _She had truly been reincarnated into the world of Harry Potter_.

o - o - o - o - o

A young boy with sleeked-back platinum hair and pointed chin struts arrogantly out of a store. If he is who she thinks he is, then there is a fair chance that he just came from _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_.

Cyrna quickly hastened towards his direction. Just as she ran past him, cold grey eyes met hers in a fleeting gaze, and a smug, condescending smirk stretched across his face before they continued their separate ways. She rolled her eyes at his attitude as she stopped in front of the store to take a couple of seconds to fix her appearance so that it wouldn't look as if she had sprinted all the way to get here.

Evening out her breath, she opened the door. To her delight, Harry Potter is there. It is clear that he had just finished his measurements and was sitting on a small chair waiting patiently for Madam Malkin to bring out his robes. The sound of wind-chimes echoed quietly in the store as Cyrna turned to gently shut the door, and Madam Malkin poked her head out from the backroom having heard the sound of the next customer.

"Hello! How can I help you today?" she asked with crispness befitting of one who worked on a hurried schedule.

"I," she forces her voice to warble ever so slightly. _Remember to act like a child._ She gets out her Hogwarts letter, and with small timid steps, she shuffles over to the adult. "Well, I was… um… I wanted—"

"Oh! Uniforms for your first year at Hogwarts, dearie?" The shopkeeper practically gushes over the little girl whose black shiny hair falls in a rather adorable mop over her shoulders, reaching her mid-back. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of blue that she wonders if she has ever seen, and the shyness in them as the child nods her head in affirmation has her wanting to coo over the child.

"Of course my dear. You're in the right place. Just let the cat down and step right up onto this stool—Oh, Mr. Potter, you wouldn't mind terribly if I did my measurements on her first before grabbing the robes for both of you from the back room?"

"It's no problem, ma'am," replied Harry. He shifts somewhat uncomfortably at the attention directed at him.

"Perfect," said Madam Malkin with a delighted smile. It only took a handful of minutes before she has efficiently completed the measurements for her newest customer. She rushes off to the back of the store, saying, "It'll be just a moment!"

With the adult gone, Cyrna stepped down from the stool. Scooping Prince up into her arms, she turned to Harry. "Are you a first-year at Hogwarts too?" she asked quietly.

Harry is wary of another encounter. The previous boy—what was his name? He had been unpleasant. But the girl in front of him doesn't seem to hold any of the arrogance the boy had. He decides that he wouldn't mind making a friend.

"Yeah, it's my first year as well." He falls silent, unsure what to say next. Usually he is hiding quietly in the cupboard _not making a noise._

The girl's smile widens a bit, and he feels himself relaxing. "I'm Cyrna Raine, and this," here she gestured with a tilt of her head towards her cat before returning her gaze to the emerald eyes, "is Prince, my familiar."

"Oh right," he flushes slightly. He should introduce himself. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

The girl doesn't react; doesn't seem surprised at his name. He feels a small smile begin to form. His eyes glimmer with curiosity and excitement. "I never knew that there was a magical world. The people I lived with were muggles."

"Ah, I knew a bit about magic before I got my letter." She takes a seat beside the boy. "I'm a half-blood."

"A half-blood?" Harry echoes questioningly.

"Yeah, it's when you have one parent or grandparent that is muggle-born." It's a lie of course. She doesn't actually know what her biological parents were, but the Flamels are both about as magical as one can get. However, she had determined, along with Nicolas, that being Half-blood was the best way to be ignored when the war came.

Harry nodded at her explanation. He isn't sure what he is. He doesn't really know his parents after all. He stares at the cat that is resting on the girl's lap. It seems to be glaring daggers at him. He blinks owlishly. "I don't think your cat likes me."

The girl is actually startled by that thought; then she snorts with laughter. "Ah," Cyrna said still laughing a bit. "Of course he wouldn't."

He blinks owlishly at her again.

"He doesn't really like anyone," she explains.

"But he seems okay with you."

"Hm," Cyrna smiled. "Probably only because I saved his life once." The boy's eyes widened. Seeing his interest, she continues, "Around a year ago, this little one—" the cat gives her an evil eye—"Prince somehow managed to get stuck on my window ledge. Mind you, my room was four stories high."

"Did he fall?" Harry asks curiously. The cat gives him a dirty glare before sniffing haughtily, ignoring him.

"Eh. Well, kind of. I saved him with my magic from crash landing on the ground."

"With your magic!?" Amazement is clear in his voice. _She's in the same year as me and she already knows magic?_

"It was one of my first instances of accidental magic," Cyrna said with a proud smile. She ruffles the white fur of her cat fondly. "It was then that I was glad that I had magic."

Harry stared at the girl's content expression. The gentle glimmer he sees in her eyes is something he has never seen before. Certainly not on Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's face as they stare at him, but even he has never seen that look directed at Dudley. They are not gentle people.

"Three sets of plain black work robes, one plain black pointed hat, one pair of dragon hide gloves, and one black winter coat with silver fastenings for each of you?" Madam Malkin asked as she reconfirmed her customers' order as she re-enters the room, putting an end to their conversation.

 _What had been the order again?_ Harry wondered as he reached down to pat his pockets for the slip of paper Hagrid had given to him before he had entered the store. His hand had just touched the paper when he heard Cyrna reply from beside him, "That's correct."

Harry awkwardly took his hand back out as he shuffled towards Madam Malkin to pay for his robes. 34 galleons total was handed to the shopkeeper before both children exited the shop.

"Have yer got yer stuff, Harry?" boomed a loud voice belonging to a man that was twice the height and five times the width of an average wizard. He carried two large ice-creams in one hand, and his brown bushy beard curved up as its owner gave a huge grin. "And who's the new friend that yeh've made?" he asked when he noticed Cyrna following Harry out the shop.

"She's Cyrna," he said with a smile to Hagrid, "she's going to go to Hogwarts too!"

"Hello, sir!" Cyrna greeted with a smile and a shy wave.

"No need ter call me sir," Hagrid guffawed, "A friend o' Harry is a friend o' mine." He reached out with his free hand to grasp Cyrna's and shook it heartily. "Call me Hagrid. I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts this year."

"Nice to meet you," she responded with a forced grin, her mask somewhat slipping in the face of the half-giant's overwhelmingly loud and warm greeting.

Thankfully, it seemed that neither Harry nor Hagrid had noticed her momentary slip-up.

o - o - o - o - o

Cyrna sat patiently in Fortescue's as Harry and Hagrid finished up their ice cream. Her mind had been drifting away from the conversation as she watched the fluffy white summer clouds move slowly across the baby-blue sky. It really was the perfect weather, she thought, as she slowly ran her fingers through Prince's fur.

"Cyrna, we're going to buy some quills and parchment. Want to come?" asked Harry.

Cyrna shivered at the thought of more stationary. There was already more stationary than was necessary in the mansion—Nicolas had a little storage dedicated to parchment and a huge collection of quills just sitting among the dust and cobwebs in a shadowed corner of the library, waiting to be used. As much as she loved binging on stationary purchases, she was not about to waste her money on the first day of shopping for things that were not necessary. Buy the essentials first.

"Nope, I'll pass. I just have so much parchment at home—I can't buy more without feeling bad," explained Cyrna apologetically. "If you need some I could just give you some of mine?"

"You would?" Harry gaped, his eyes wide.

She cocked her head to the side to show her confusion. "Sure, why not? I have more than I need."

"Uh—" But he's only spent a few hours with her. Besides, it's not as if he _doesn't_ have enough money. "Maybe if I run out of parchment and quills during the school year?" Harry asked with hesitation. He knows that he wants to be friends with her. A girl who can have such a gentle expression can't be bad.

"Okay," she said agreeably with a smile. "Just find me at school if you need some more."

He grins. "Okay. So what are you going to do now then?"

"Hm, I think I'm going over to Flourish and Blotts to buy my textbooks next, and I'll probably stay there for a couple of hours before going home today."

"I'll be getting my textbooks after, right, Hagrid?"

"Right. So we'll meet yeh later at the bookstore after our quick stop fer parchment and ink." Hagrid herded Harry out, and soon Cyrna was left alone with Prince in beautiful silence.

She set Prince on the ground, and stretched her legs. Prince gave a small unhappy "mreow" at the feeling of being settled on the ground.

"Sorry, Prince," said Cyrna as she smiled amusedly, "You'll have to walk on your own for the rest of the day."

Prince gave a dejected huff before he followed his human out the sweet-scented shop into the cobblestone street. A short moment later, his human entered another store that smelled strongly like the library in the mansion where his human usually spent most of her time. His human would not be leaving this location for a while, Prince thought, as he ran over to the cushioned seats that were on the shadowed edge of the bookstore. He hopped onto an empty one and was prepared to sleep for at least four hours when he heard a quiet yelp from the stranger seated on his left.

He looked up in annoyance and met the gaze of curious blue eyes, framed by white lashes, that in his opinion, were a shade lighter than his and, he thought proudly, nowhere near as pretty as his human's. Prince decided to ignore her as he shifted on the cushion to find a comfortable position to sleep. He had almost successfully fallen asleep when he felt a hesitant hand pet him. Immediately, Prince sprang from his seat on the couch with a hiss and he gave an irritated growl at the stranger that dared to touch his fur without permission.

"Prince!" yelled Cyrna in alarm as she hurried across the bookstore when she heard his growl.

She found Prince near the feet a pale—sickly pale—girl. His tail was puffed up, his ears flattened, and he looked as if he was about to pounce on the white hand that was approaching his face. Shit this wasn't good. She dropped the eight books she had been carrying in her arms and lunged for her pet.

She grabbed on to Prince just in time and wrestled to secure her hold on her cat. "Prince," she hissed, "calm down!"

Prince's ear flicked towards the familiar sound of his human's voice and he realized that the hands which held him belonged to Cyrna. The white hand which had been slowly approaching his face had retracted as its owner now watched his human warily. He gave another growl for good measure before he snuggled back into the familiar arms.

Cyrna was about to ask the pale-skinned girl what had happened when she realized that the shop had fallen into silence. All the customers had watched the scene, and the commotion had drawn the store owner's attention.

The customers watched in anticipation, not wanting to miss the grouchy store owner tear the two children into pieces with his verbal flaying for disturbing the silence. It wasn't as if most of them had anything better to do; mind as well sit back and enjoy the show.

 _No matter which world I'm in, some things just don't change, do they? It's a wonder how some people can show so much sympathy for someone they love, yet, are capable of being completely apathetic—and to some degree—even capable of deriving enjoyment in a stranger's misfortune._

Well, she guessed that there were some things that were just meant to be constants of the universe. Cyrna rose from the ground and gave a chilling glare to everyone that was staring. Carefully she released part of her hidden magic in a sharp concentrated burst before hiding it again.

The typical adults of the wizarding population would never be intimidated by a child, but there was a quiet glimmer in Cyrna's crystal eyes that was eerily reminiscent of the repressed flames of untamed blue fire that would, without warning, spring to life and ruthlessly devour its prey, leaving nothing but its ashen remains behind.

o - o - o - o - o

A tall thin man with sallow skin and a large hooked nosed observed the proceedings quietly from a shadowed spot on the second floor of the bookstore. One brow arched up at the controlled display of magic used by the child to intimidate the mindless mass that had gathered.

Thin lips curled into a vindictive smirk. He watched with a twisted sense of amusement as the nosy customers, who had done nothing to help the situation between Miss Greengrass and the animal, averted their gaze one by one when met by the eyes of the raven-haired child.

He wondered if she was going to be admitted to Hogwarts this year. He had no doubts that she would make it to Hogwarts eventually. With _that_ amount of magic, the Ministry of Magic was definitely going to force some sort of schooling on the brat.

Silently, he thought to himself about how miserable and hectic the new year of Hogwarts would be. Most of the children of the Death Eaters would be enrolled, and finally… Potter would be there. He would have to see those eyes on _that_ face again.

Well, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he thought, his smirk widening into a malicious grin. The son of the man who had bullied and tormented him was coming…

He would protect Potter for Lily. He had given his word. But that didn't mean he had to treat him well.

Ignoring the niggling part of his mind reminding him that Harry was also Lily's son, he allowed his mind to focus solely on a thought formed by years of bitterness:

 _Vengeance on James Potter… oh, how sweet it will be_.

The shadow of Severus Snape slipped away, leaving none the wiser of his disappearance from the bookshop.

o - o - o - o - o

Harry Potter walked into Flourish and Blotts with a bounce in his step, excited to show the colour-changing bottled ink that he had just bought to his newest friend, only to hear a regal voice proclaim, " _You_ , a lowly merchant, would _dare_ to scold _me_ , the heiress of the Greengrass family?"

The quiet bookstore was instantly filled with rapid hushed mutterings at this statement.

" _She's_ the heiress?"

"…plain-looking…no wonder why…"

"… the Sacred Twenty-Eight…"

Harry caught bits and pieces of the customers' speculations as he made his way around the bookshop, trying to find Cyrna. To his surprise and dread, he found her standing right beside the blue-eyed brunette who seemed to be the current center of attention from the mutterings he had heard. Strangely, there was no crowd surrounding them; he could tell that the other customers _were_ listening in, though they did not stare. In fact, he frowned in confusion, it appeared as if they were staring determinedly at everything but the scene that was taking place.

He was about to approach his friend when a stout middle-aged man with a balding head and a pig-like face, which was beaded with sweat that trickled down to his finely trimmed mustache, suddenly gave a low jerky bow to the strange-looking brunette. ' _Why does she have white lashes but brown hair? Aren't the colours usually supposed to match?_ ' he thought as he stepped forward and gave a small wave to Cyrna who gave a quick smile back before focusing on the portly shopkeeper who was now blubbering some apology:

"I'm terribly sorry Miss Greengrass, I really just didn't recognize you, your parents didn't ever release any picture of you, how was I supposed to know who you are? I—" he stuttered nervously to a stop at the narrowed glare of the heiress.

"Did you just place the blame on my parents for your idiocy?" she asked in a deceptively sweet voice as her eyes sparked with unmasked anger.

"No! Of course not!" he hastily denied.

"You wouldn't want me to report this back to my parents, _would you_?" she purred dangerously as the anger in her eyes changed into a predatory gleam.

"No, please don't," cried the shopkeeper who moments ago had been feeling ecstatic at the thought of tearing the annoying children's ego into shreds. Oh, how he regretted it now. "I'll do anything, please don't tell. Besides, I wasn't scolding you… yes, yes—it was the useless girl with the cat! She's who my reprimand was meant for!"

"That 'useless' girl", she sneered, " _is my friend_."

Harry noticed a short flicker of surprise before understanding flashed in Cyrna's eyes as her lips pulled into a bright smile directed towards the shopkeeper.

"Yes," she began excitedly, "Daphne and I had plans to meet up in the bookstore so we could quickly purchase our first-year textbooks together before heading over to the apothecary, two blocks down, for potion ingredients!" Her happy smile stuttered to a pause before turning into a slight frown, "Well, that _was_ the plan, but we've gotten held up here, haven't we, Daphne?"

The two girls shared a quick mischievous smile and a look of respect. _Girls are scary_ , Harry thought privately as he began to have an idea of what was going on.

"Wait, but your cat, it attacked her!" spluttered the merchant, "There's no way you knew each other before you entered the store!"

"Really," Daphne gave a delicate sniff, "You insult my parents, my friend; you've put me behind schedule—oh, my mother will be _most_ displeased—and now you want to remind me of that traumatic experience?" She gave a small shiver. "You're irredeemable."

With a flick of her hair and a tilt of her chin, she grabbed Cyrna's wrist and prepared to march out the store. "Come, let's tell mother and father what an utter waste of space this shopkeeper is."

Harry watched, eyes wide, mouth forming a small 'o', as the strange girl—that he was sure Cyrna had not met before—headed towards the exit with his friend by her side. Realizing he was about to be left behind, he quickly ran past the terrified shopkeeper.

"Cyrna! Wait up!" he called as he reached her side. "Who is s—"

An extremely pale hand muffled his last word before it returned to its owner's side. "Quiet," hissed the voice on the other side of Cyrna.

They took a grand total of three steps towards the door before the shopkeeper ran after them. "Wait. Let me fix this!" he pleaded.

"What are you offering?" the girl asked coldly as she removed her hand from his mouth.

"You said you were going to Hogwarts, and that you needed the textbooks, right?" he stammered, "I'll give you the full set, for free!"

"No," answered Daphne without hesitation, "make that three full sets."

"Three!?" the man cried.

"Yes," she smirked, "One for me and one for each of my friends whose time you have wasted."

"But that's worth—"

"No? I guess, we _will_ be making that visit to my parents then," she replied calmly as she inspected her nails.

"Wait! Wait! I'll give them to you!" the shopkeeper quickly shouted.

Daphne smirked victoriously as the books were handed to her. " _Pleasure doing business with you_ ," she said with false civility before she exited the shop with her two 'friends.'

o - o - o - o - o

This was how Cyrna and Harry found themselves outside the shop, clutching the bag containing the full set of first-year books without having spent a Knut. Daphne had chattered for a while with Cyrna after exiting the shop before politely excusing herself, saying that she couldn't be in the sun for too long.

The situation between her and Prince was never acknowledged. No verbal apologies from either side were made. It was not necessary. This favour from Daphne, Cyrna knew, was probably the Slytherin's way of apologizing as well as their way of extending a possibility for a relationship, whether it be as acquaintances with common interests or as friends. _A favour for a favour_. She could understand them.

After a quick stop at the Apothecary where they paid for the necessary ingredients and equipment, and after Hedwig was presented to Harry, who stammered out unending thanks, Hagrid lead his two charges to the last stop: a narrow and shabby shop with a rustic sign written in peeling gold letters hanging on a plain, unassuming door.

 _Ollivanders._ _I better wait outside. Who knows what the old man will say when he sees me… better not risk Harry knowing anything of significance about me._

"Actually," Cyrna piped up with an apologetic face, just as Harry reached the doorknob, "change of plans. I've just realized that I need to return home—I'm already five minutes late!"

"Oh. Um. Well, I guess I'll see you sometime later in Hogwarts?" asked Harry hopefully.

"Earlier, actually!" said Cyrna with an excited glimmer in her eyes. "I'll find you on the Hogwarts Express!"

Cyrna waved her goodbye energetically until Harry and Hagrid disappeared from her view into the store. She touched the vial that was charmed invisible and filled with scarlet liquid. It was attached to a chain that hung around her neck. She was ready to return to the Flamels.

"I guess I'll be getting my wand another day," she muttered softly to Prince who had fallen asleep in her arms before speaking the activation word she had hurriedly chosen just before she had left the mansion:

" _Home_ "


	8. Soul of the Wand

**Chapter 8: Soul of the Wand**

"Try to aim for mediocrity if you want to be ignored," Perenelle advised. "And remember to always _always_ be aware and in control of the amount of magic you allow to be unhidden."

"Mediocrity?" the alchemist scoffs. "No student of mine is going to be _mediocre_. I had better not see any of your grades—especially _potions_ at anything below an O."

"Nicolas, O is the highest grade. Every other possible grade is always going to below it," Cyrna says dryly. Perenelle's suggestion honestly makes more sense, but she supposes that it's a hit to the genius' ego if the person he taught is not excelling in school.

Nicholas grumbles unhappily as both females throw him a look.

"Don't mind him, my dear." Perenelle pats the child on the head. "Do what you think is best."

"I will. I promise," Cyrna answers. It's an easy promise to make. She _always_ does what is best for herself. With a final nod to both her mentors, she heads out the door.

"And remember dear, portkey over to King's Cross Station as soon as you've bought your wand!" called Perenelle hurriedly, "the train leaves at 11 o'clock sharp!"

The figure responded with a small nod of her head and a farewell wave before she disappeared from their view with a telltale "pop." The Flamels stood watching the empty air for a while longer before they turned as one and headed back into their mansion that now seemed much more somber.

"Good riddance," Nicolas grouched as he ambled down the halls with his wife to his potions lab. "Finally some peace."

"Well, I'll miss the dear," Perenelle said wistfully, "it's going to be terribly silent again."

A sigh followed by an assenting grunt was heard from Nicolas as he opened the door to his lab, wondering what he was going to do without the child's occasional questions to bring him out of his boredom that he never realized he had been living in until she came. _And who is going to bring my tea and scones now?_

He gazed out of the small window in his potions room, revealing a beautiful sunlit day with clear blue skies. Small rays of light streamed in through the window, providing the only source of natural light for the dim candlelit room.

 _Good luck, Cyrna_ , thought Nicolas gruffly as he took one last gaze at the window.

o - o - o - o - o

"Ready?" Cyrna whispered nervously at Prince as she quickly ran her hands through his fur, trying to relieve her anxiety.

" _Mreow._ "

Prince sighed in annoyance as he answered his human for the umpteenth time. Honestly, he thought, it was ridiculous how his human had dragged him from his morning sleep just to get—what did they call those sticks—a wand? Ultimately, he had no idea why his human was so nervous. _It was just a stick_.

 _'Why couldn't she have broken one off from the trees in the estate_?' he thought with derision.

With a roll of his eyes, he leapt out of Cyrna's arms and pattered over to the plain wooden door. He scratched the door impatiently and would have continued to do so if the door had not suddenly opened. With a yelp of surprise, he tipped forward and tumbled into the shop. Vaguely, he registered the quiet tinkling of bells before he unfolded himself and cautiously peered around the store. It was filled to the brim with rows upon rows of narrow wooden boxes—some of which looked new while others were covered with a layer of dust and had cobwebs forming over it.

Prince gave a tiny sneeze and rubbed his irritated nose when pale, wide eyes, which seemed to glow eerily within the dark of the store, suddenly appeared in close proximity to his face—so close that he could feel the man's exhale.

He gave a small squeak of surprise and scrambled backward, away from the eyes.

"Ah, a most unusual customer we seem to have today," spoke a soft, inquisitive voice as its owner gazed at him for a little longer before blessedly switching his large silvery eyes to focus the girl who had just stepped into his shop.

Cyrna gasped in surprise as her cat hurtled straight into her arms. "Prince?" questioned Cyrna in concern, "what's wrong?"

"It would seem that I have startled the poor cat," murmured a voice as a man stepped out from the shadows.

Pale skin. Eerily round moon-like eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul.

"Mr. Ollivander," greeted Cyrna with a slight quiver in her voice that betrayed her nervousness. _Definitely understandable for Prince to be scared_. The bulbous silvery eyes were unnerving. They had a strange sort of intensity to them—like they were focused on you, but at the same time, not really seeing you.

 _Th_ _ose eyes don't look human at all._

"I would say the same to you, child," replied the man, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, making him slightly more approachable.

Cyrna's eyes widened in surprise. She definitely had not said that statement out loud.

"Ah. And there goes your voice," he muttered.

What was this man talking about? She hadn't said a word—it _couldn't_ be. "I hear that legilimency is illegal when used without consent," she said carefully.

The shopkeeper gave another quiet chuckle at that, "Ah yes. Indeed the active use of legilimency has long been banned." Mr. Ollivander hummed a pleasant tune as he tapped his temple. "But there's not much a legilimens can do if thoughts are being screamed at him."

 _He's a legilimens? If so, then what did he mean when he said "There goes your voice?"_

"Anyways," he cleared his throat, "I take it you are here to buy a wand…" he trailed off in thought as his eyes focused and a piercing gaze took over his previously misty eyes as he began to take the necessary measurements for the wand.

"Right-handed?" he asked shortly.

"Yes," confirmed Cyrna warily. The wandmaker busied himself around her. "I was wondering, what did you mean about my eyes?"

But the shopkeeper was no longer paying attention to her, and was instead, wandering through the narrow, dusty aisles of the wand shop, quietly muttering to himself: "Haven't had a halfling in a while… oh, what fun," he smiled, crooked teeth showing, "… definitely not dogwood, hmm… perhaps pine…"

Making a decision, he snatched the box from the shelf and quickly scurried back.

"Pine and unicorn hair. 10 inches. Very flexible," he recited, "go on," he urged, eyes sparking with curiosity as Cyrna took it from his hand, "give it a wave."

The long stare she gave him seemed to be wasted as he ignored her and muttered incomprehensible things under his breath, Cyrna gave in and flicked the wand. To her horror, a huge blaze of fire suddenly appeared midair.

"Nope, no, no, no, definitely not the one," muttered Mr. Ollivander as he snatched the wand from her hand and put out the fire with a quick _Aguamenti_. "One moment, and I'll be right back with you," said the wandmaker absentmindedly as he scurried back to the shelves.

"Hm…" he muttered as he looked through the thousands of boxes, "what do you make of the Dark Arts?"

 _Did he just—_ he was impossible to follow with logic, so she just gave up. "They're illegal," she said neutrally, carefully sidestepping the question.

"Yes, yes, of course it is," Mr. Ollivanders muttered annoyed, "But are you against it, academically interested in it, or—ah!" he ended as he noticed a slight reaction from his customer at his last option. He picked up an old, beautifully carved ebony wand and ambled back to his customer.

"Here, give this one a try. Ebony and dragon heartstring. Rigid and unyielding."

She had just touched the wand when the door was violently ripped off its hinges; the windows of the store shattered, and pieces of glass crashed onto the ground.

"Definitely not." A quick _Reparo_ later and everything was looking normal once again. The wandmaker calmly wandered back to the wands leaving a slightly traumatized Prince and Cyrna in his wake. A few wands later with varying levels of destruction accompanying it, Cyrna heaved a sigh and looked at the old grandfather clock that sat ticking away in the dusty corner of the shop.

Wait. Was she reading the clock correctly?

Because it read 10:40.

 _An hour and ten minutes have passed already!?_ _Well shit_. If she didn't find her wand soon, she would be late for the train. Perhaps she should go to Hogwarts first and then get her wand, she thought with panic, but then how would she attend her lessons without a wand?

And so Cyrna sat nervously picking on the sleeves of her new Hogwarts school robes for a few more seconds before the anticipated voice of the wandmaker addressed her:

"Neither rigid nor flexible in your thoughts… how interesting… not daring either, nor do you place much value on the idea of fair play… ambition is lacking in you—not very competitive—and the thirst to learn for the sake of learning is also lacking…"

Cyrna mouth fell open slightly. "How did you guess all this?" she questioned with a tiny amount of awe evident in her voice.

The wandmaker flashed a quick but genuine smile at his customer, "Each wood and core represent intrinsic values within a person. The more I try various wands, the better I know you."

Her eyes sharpened at this statement. "Then doesn't that mean that you would know the character of every wizard and witch who you have sold a wand to?"

The only answer was a mischievous chuckle from the back of the store and more quiet rummaging sounds before a delighted, "Aha!" was heard. The wandmaker hurried back to his customer; large, silvery, luminescent eyes glowed brightly with excitement and curiosity.

"Here," he murmured, "this one should do the trick if I'm not wrong." Just before he handed the wand to Cyrna he gave an eerie chuckle. "You just _love_ contradictions, don't you, Miss Raine?" He gave her a crooked smile as his bulbous eyes attentively watched his customer.

Cyrna stared at him strangely, feeling slightly off-put. She didn't think she liked contradictions.

"Hawthorn and Thestral tail hair. This was a Thestral that I had followed for years in order to get the hair," reminisced Mr. Ollivander. "It was aloof and independent, never near its herd—never needed it. And never, until its final moments, would it allow me to come close to it. This hair," he said in a hushed voice, "was harvested as he died—as life transformed into death."

Cyrna shivered involuntarily at the similarities between its situation and hers. She only vaguely registered the next few words before the intricately carved handle of the wand was in her hand. She grasped it reflexively and to her surprise, found that its handle formed comfortably around her fingers, accommodating to her wand's magic swirled gently around hers, intertwining before settling back down. The wand had chosen her.

 _How did I ever live without you_? She wondered in awe as she gazed at the unassuming stick that rested gently in her palms.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the wandmaker urged with anticipation shining in his eyes, "give it a wave."

A confident smile rose onto her face. _You are mine_.

 _Ah_ _._ Ollivander thought with a small smile as he felt the shift of magic in his shop. _Nyx. So you've finally chosen, haven't you?_

Without hesitation, the child lifted her hand and made a sharp slash through the air. Immediately, beautiful silver sparks showered the dim, shadowed store. The child smiled in genuine delight, and a fierce flash of complicated emotions flashed across her eyes as she gazed at the wand. It called to her, to her magic. She could feel her magic roaring as it struggled to free itself from its hiding.

She let go.

Hidden tears formed in Ollivander's eyes as he stared at the wand in the hands of the child. His tiny shop was now painted in an ethereal silver as the light flooded every nook and cranny. His mouth opened in silent wonder as he saw beautiful silver strands of condensed magic suspended in the air as it wrapped gently around the girl and her wand.

 _Of course you'd choose a_ _powerful one_ _,_ he thought with amusement.

o - o - o - o - o

Cyrna blinked in shock as the silver glow finally faded back into darkness. That was… _wow._

"You'd better get going soon," came the voice of Mr. Ollivander. It sounded gruffer than usual. "The train leaves in 6 minutes."

At this, Cyrna blinked furiously to restore her vision. "How much for the wand?" she asked, ready to pay any price for it.

"You know," began the wandmaker, suddenly going off-tangent, "even though the Thestral never allowed me to approach it, we did have some sort of strange relationship," he sighed with bittersweet nostalgia. "Whenever it was wounded, hungry, or just trying to weather a large storm, it would always seek me—though it wouldn't let me get too close to it. Maybe something had happened to it in its past, maybe it was no longer willing to allow people or other creatures close to it for a reason…" he pondered, then with a seriousness and awareness normally absent from his pale eyes he continued, "I'm just glad that he's finally found a friend after waiting for fifty years."

He cast a fond gaze at the wand which, to Cyrna, seemed to pulse in response. "No," he murmured, "I can't ask for anything more." Raising his eyes, which now had a faint sheen of tears, he met Cyrna's solemn expression and whispered, "take it, care for it, and treasure it."

"Of course," Cyrna promised, rearranging her features into one that she believed to be sympathy—really, she was terribly suited for emotional moments as such. "But," she continued, "I insist to pay. I have never felt anything like I have felt today when I found my wand… if you know your customers as well as you say you do, then you must know that I hate the feeling of being indebted to someone."

"Some things, like the favour you have done for me today, simply don't have a monetary value."

Cyrna shifted uncertainly. "Still…" she said stiffly. It felt wrong to take something without giving anything back. She stole another glance at the clock.

4 minutes left.

Her eyes widened in panic. "Sorry sir," she hurriedly apologized, "I really do insist to pay."

Quickly tossing down seven galleons, the amount she remembered Harry Potter paying, she grabbed her wand and luggage and ran out the store, leaving an amused wandmaker behind. Once his customer vanished, his thoughts returned to the Thestral:

 _She's stubborn, just like you, Nyx._

He gave a peaceful sigh as a weight lifted from his heart at knowing that his friend had finally found an owner. _A wand filled with contradictions: as easily Dark as it could be Light. Supple grip, rigid body._ Really, he mused, he could go on forever about that wand.

Glancing at the seven gold coins lying innocuously on his palms, his thoughts turned serious as he sent a silent plea to his friend:

 _Take care of her, Nyx, don't let her fall from her path_.

Miles away in King's Cross station, Cyrna cast a quick glance at her wand as it gave a sudden throb.


	9. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 9: The Hogwarts Express**

There was one minute left until departure and Cyrna was safely onboard the train with everything she needed for her first year at Hogwarts. She heaved a sigh of relief as she headed towards the compartments at the end of the train with Prince in one arm and her luggage in her other. _Way too close for comfort_ , she thought with a grimace as she recalled her rush to the station.

The shrill whistle sounded loudly. Hastily sliding open the door, she entered the compartment and dropped into the seat diagonal of Harry just as the Hogwarts Express gave a sudden lurch forward before it settled down into a steady speed. Cyrna pulled her wand out and levitated her luggage to a corner of the compartment. Hearing a small gasp, she turned around to face the only other occupant in the compartment who was staring at her, mouth agape.

"You've already learnt how to do magic!" Harry exclaimed.

"Hello to you too," Cyrna replied with amusement. "I really only know a bit. My parents taught me some magic after I got my wand." _A lie. She had used Perenelle's old wand during their lessons together._

"Huh. I wonder if I can do all that—magic that is. I didn't really believe Hagrid that I really was a wizard until I got my wand," said Harry.

Prince snorted derisively. Cyrna chuckled as she combed through his fur. "Don't worry, you'll definitely be able to do magic." _I'd be very concerned for my own future if you couldn't_. "But yes, getting a wand was an experience, wasn't it?"

He smiles at the warmth he remembers coursing through his body as his magic rises in answer to the wand. "Definitely." The experience was magical, for lack of a better adjective. His smile falls, however, when he remembers the strange wandmaker. "Cyrna, did Mr. Ollivander say anything strange to you?"

"Words that come from strange men will always be strange as well," she sidesteps the question.

Harry scrunched his brows, a bit confused by his friend's reply. "Well, Mr. Ollivander said something weird to me."

"Oh?" She quirked a brow at him inquisitively.

"He said that because my wand was the brother-wand of Voldemort's he expected great things from me."

Harry nervously fidgeting in the silence as Cyrna studied him. Her gaze was sharp with a certain awareness. He recalled the time at the bookstore and resisted a shiver. His friend was definitely cleverer than she usually let on. He relaxed a bit when Cyrna turned away.

"I wouldn't take it too seriously," she said finally. "The entire Wizarding World already expects great things from you. His reason is just one among many."

"But why?" Harry asked, completely stumped. He had _just_ found out he was a wizard a few months ago!

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived," she said simply.

"Everyone keeps saying that," he muttered mulishly. "What does it even matter? And I thought you didn't know. You didn't react like the other witches and wizards I had met when I told you my name."

 _Oh, he's more perceptive than I thought_.

"Well, I don't really know the specifics, but I think it matters because that title shows that you are the only one who survived He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It is because of this that people expect you to do great things." Cyrna shrugged. "I didn't react because I didn't care." _A lie._

Harry stared at his friend as he thought of her explanation. It made sense to him. But what does she mean—"You didn't care?" he asks her, confused and slightly hurt.

"You were a stranger in a clothing shop," she says dryly. _A lie. She knows him far better than she should know a stranger._ "I don't often care for strangers." _I never care for strangers._

"Oh." Her reason is rather straightforward, and he finds that he likes it. He is just like the next witch or wizard to her.

Cyrna pulled out a book from her satchel to read. Curiously, Harry leaned over. "What are you reading?" he asks curiously.

"The Potions textbook for this year."

 _Potions?_ He remembered the unpleasant smells in the apothecary. He frowns a bit. "Is that your favourite subject?"

She looked up from her book and gave a short laugh. "I can't say," her eyes crinkle as she smiles at him. "School hasn't started yet. I was just reading ahead on what I think may be one of the harder subjects." _Lies._

Suddenly, the compartment door slides open and the red-headed boy that Harry had seen earlier enters. The youngest redhead took a careful glance around and noted the two figures that occupied the compartment: one was the boy who his mother had helped, and the other was a raven-haired girl with stunning blue eyes in a shade that he had never seen before.

Everywhere else on the train is full, so he points to the empty seat and asks, "Is anyone sitting there?"

Harry caught Cyrna's gaze to check if she minded. A slight shrug of her shoulders told him that she didn't care. Returning his gaze to the red-haired boy, he shook his head. Just as the boy had sat down, the red-headed twins who had helped him settle his luggage appeared.

"Hello Harry!" they greeted enthusiastically before they introduced themselves as Fred and George Weasley. "And who is this beautiful lady," they chirped in unison as they noticed the blue-eyed girl who was quietly watching the proceedings.

"My friend!" exclaimed Harry happily.

"Well, nice meeting you, friend-of-Harry-Potter," the twins intoned with a dramatic bow before exiting the compartment, ready to find other first-years to tease.

The redhead stared wide-eyed at him. "Are you really Harry Potter?" he blurted out as soon as his brothers were gone.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and flicked his gaze to Cyrna who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Yeah," he muttered with a slow nod.

"Oh, so do you have the… you know…" He gestured to his forehead.

In response, Harry lifted his bangs to reveal the scar that seemed to fascinate almost every wizard and witch he had met.

"Wow…" Ron gaped in awe, "wicked!" he exclaimed with a huge grin.

Harry smiled. Maybe he could make another friend.

"I'm Harry—though you already know. And you are?"

"I'm Ron. Ron Weasley." He turned to glance at the girl beside him. "And you?" he stammered as sharp blue eyes turn to study him.

Its owner smiles and grabs his hand in a friendly handshake. "Nice to meet you. I'm Cyrna Raine."

o - o - o - o - o

Presently, both boys were both devouring the sweets they had bought from the trolley. She picked up her own pumpkin pasty that she had bought despite Harry's insistence to share his with her and took a bite.

 _Oh,_ she thought with bliss. It was heavenly. The savoury sweet crust contrasted beautifully with the pumpkin filling that was spiced perfectly, leading to a mouth-watering sensation. It was definitely one of the tastier pumpkin pasties she had eaten.

The door slams open. Everyone freezes mid-chew.

"Has anyone seen Neville's toad?"

It's the last member of the Golden Trio.

"We've just told him that his toad wasn't here," spoke Ron with a mouthful of pastries and a wand in his hand.

The newcomer's eyes stare at the wand. "Oh, were you about to do magic?" She took a seat beside Harry, crossed her legs primly, and said sniffily, "Well, let's see it then."

Cyrna sighed and closed her eyes, knowing the mess that would follow.

o - o - o - o - o

"And you should change. We'll be there soon." Hermione said in a bossy voice before leaving the compartment. The door once again slid shut.

Cyrna stared at the boys who stared at the door. Hermione, in Cyrna's humble opinion, had been very much like a hurricane. She had swept into their compartment, fired off a bunch of information, then in what felt like the blink of an eye, had dismissed herself and swept back out the apartment.

"Well I sure hope I won't end up in the same house as her. She's mental!" Ron exclaimed, appalled.

Harry shrugged. She didn't seem too bad—not like his cousin who was a bully. Just a bit bossy. "Then which house do you want to go to?" he asked.

"Definitely Gryffindor," replied Ron immediately without second thought. "That's the house that all the Weasleys have gone too—don't even want to think about what might happen if I end up in a different house. Well, actually, I guess my ma' would be fine with any house as long as it's not Slytherin," he shivered with disgust.

"Because that's the house that Vol—You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah. Only dark wizards get sorted there." Ron gives a nod at his own statement.

"Oh, then I—"

"—Slytherins aren't all bad." His other friend interrupts him as he is about to speak.

Ron snorted, "They're all slimy snakes that only look out for their own skin."

 _Does the make me bad?_ Cyrna wondered. It was true that though she would help others if she owed them a favour, she would never do anything that would put herself at risk. Her life came first for her. She didn't think there was anything wrong with this mentality. That was how you survived in any world.

A comforting pulse from her wand quieted her thoughts. No, there was nothing wrong with ensuring your safety first, she decided. She had always known that while that was the cowardly thing to do, it didn't make the act or mentality evil.

Cyrna shrugged in response. "Self-preservation _is_ a Slytherin trait, but I don't think there is anything wrong with them looking out for themselves—especially when they're apparently living in an era where other houses view them the way you do, who else, if not they, are going to watch out for them?"

Harry listened with a sort of fascination as his two friends continued to bicker on. Cyrna was Cryna. She was as calm as she usually was, her voice a tad bit icy and aloof, but her eyes held no viciousness or condescension. Ron was…

…Well, his face was rather red. "You don't understand how evil the Malfoys are," Ron sputtered. "Their youngest is probably even worse than his Death Eater father."

"Are you basing your thoughts on Slytherin solely from your family's terrible relationship with the Malfoys?"

"That and the fact that all the Slytherins were all Death Eaters in the last war!"

Cyrna smirked as she crossed her legs and leaned against the window of the train. "Would you bet on that?"

Ron crossed his arms. His brows scrunched together in thought.

"Because I would bet a fortune that not every single Slytherin took the mark—though I think you are correct—most did."

"See," Ron replied smugly.

"But you don't know the circumstances behind the mark. Purebloods stand as a unit. What do you think would happen to them if they chose not to accept the mark?"

"Hunted," muttered Ron quietly. He is pensive for a moment but when he looks back to Cyrna, his eyes are flashing with a resolve that she is surprised to see. "They would be hunted, but," he says louder in a bold voice, "I would rather die than take the mark. _They're cowards_."

"Or you could say that they were looking out for their family. Either way," Cyrna shrugs, "being a coward does not make you evil. Who knows, there might even be some that regret taking the mark," she mused in a calmer tone as she thought of Snape.

Ron releases an explosive sigh at her reply. He sulks a bit as he glares out the glass window. "I hate the Malfoys," he finally said in a quiet voice a few minutes later.

 _Knowing the Lucius and his father, the Malfoys probably did do some shady things to the Weasleys that I can't remember._ Cyrna sighed, it wasn't her place to judge what had happened between the two families. "That may be so, but please have your hatred for that particular family contained. Slytherins are more than just the Malfoys."

With that said, she went back to her potions book and steadfastly ignored the other occupants—not that it was hard to do so, their little debate had left Harry and Ron rather quiet.

"Hey!" Harry said a while later. "That's Hogwarts isn't it!"

Both his friends glanced up and looked at the small speck that was growing in size.

"Blimey, mate. I believe it is!" exclaimed Ron with a huge grin on his face, "and that part of the castle," he pointed at a large flat grassy plain with hooped-rods sticking out of the ground, "is the Quidditch pitch!"

"Quidditch?' Harry asks.

"The best sport ever created," Ron said with a decisive nod.

Cyrna stayed silent and simply devoured the sight of what had just years ago been a childhood fairy tale. She knew she should have expected it when their compartment door, once again, banged open. Life around Harry Potter was _never_ peaceful.

She sighed.

The pale, pointed-faced boy that Harry recognized from Madam Malkin's entered their compartment along with two thick, round-faced and mean-looking boys.

"So you're Harry Potter?" asked the blond-haired boy, ignoring the other members in the compartment.

"Yes," said Harry. He glanced at the large boys standing on either side of the boy he had met at Madam Malkin's. They gave off Dudley vibes, and he was pretty sure that he didn't like that.

"They're Crabbe and Goyle. I'm _Malfoy_ ," he stressed meaningfully, "Draco Malfoy."

Ron rolled his eyes derisively and sent a "I told you so" look to Cyrna who was quietly sitting beside him reviewing her Charms textbook. She had finished Potions a while ago.

"Think my name's funny, _don't you?_ " the blond hissed as he took in the redhead with a look of contempt. "Red hair, freckles, and that disgustingly stupid look you're sporting right now," he sneered, " _why_ you must be a _Weasley_."

"You prick!" Ron growled as he lunged, only to be pulled back down by Cyrna.

Draco gave a sneer when he saw the red-haired Weasley restrained by a raven-haired girl who had not once glanced up from her book since he had arrived. _Probably scared of me_ , he smirked arrogantly. He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find that some families are _better_ than the others, Potter. Wouldn't want to go about making friends with the wrong sort, would you? You could do _so_ much better than a Weasley and a half-blood girl who is too scared to even glance up from her book." He held out his hand. " _I can help you there_."

Harry's eyes narrowed in anger. "I think I can tell the wrong sort out by myself," he replied without missing a beat. Not once glancing at the outstretched hand.

 _And here, their rivalry starts_ , thought Cyrna as she mentally ticked off the checkpoint. She flipped to the next chapter of her textbook. She had been able to perform all these charms when she was with Perenelle, but a review never hurt.

"Well _if_ I were you, _I'd_ be careful now, Potter." Cyrna ignored it as the Malfoy boy hissed, his face flushed with anger. "Wouldn't want you to end up with the same… _f_ _ate_ as your parents, would you?"

He was up on his feet before he knew it. "You take that back!" Harry snarled.

"Because that's exactly the fate you'll end up sharing if you continue to hang out with second-rate people like the Weasleys and Hagrid." Malfoy finished in a taunting voice as he stepped back to allow the two lumps of meat to shield him.

Cyrna released her grip, and Ron sprung to his feet. Face as red as his hair.

"You two want to fight?" Draco sneered arrogantly as he cast another veiled, curious glance at the raven-haired girl who continued to calmly read her textbook, not once acknowledging his presence.

"Unless you leave our compartment. Right. Now," Harry bit out.

Draco's lips twisted into an unpleasant expression as his annoyance reached its peak—not because of Harry's answer, _oh no_ , but because of this _half-blood_ who had not even given him a glance or a sound of acknowledgment since he had entered the compartment. _Who does she think she is?_ he thought angrily. "Goyle, grab that girl's blasted book," he smirked, "and _rip it_."

Cyrna had just registered what was said before her charms textbook was out of her hands and the tearing sound of its paper spine ripping could be heard. She stared in stunned confusion at the ruined pages that slowly drifted to the ground. Having never been bullied before, it didn't register that she was being bullied until later—much later when her thoughts finally caught up to her observations as she watched Ron and Harry both swing at Goyle with fury in her behalf.

She continued to observe the situation with growing irritation, slowly morphing into anger now that Draco had acted against her personally— _and it was a good book that costed a decent amount of money!_ Goyle easily caught Harry's and Ron's fist, but then a rat suddenly appeared and sunk its teeth deep into Goyle's hand. He yelped in pain and surprise before he flung the rat against the windows. The rat fell down limp, seemingly unconscious.

"Scabbers!" shouted Ron before he turned back for another lunge.

 _She couldn't believe she was being bullied by a child._

Crabbe and Goyle sneered as they both prepared to retaliate.

 _It was ridiculous._

"It's all your fault," said Draco tauntingly towards Cyrna. "You should know your place, and greet your betters properly," he sneered, " _half-blood._ "

Blast the fact that he was just a child. _She was so done with whatever this was._ Ignoring him would only give the idiot the idea that she was a pushover, and she absolutely _refused_ to be called so, _especially_ by the fool of a child—

"—My _betters_?" she sneered just as viciously as he had done moments ago. Focusing, she carefully unbound the silver strands one by one. Her magic flared in the compartment as pressure slowly began to build. The temperature dropped and the occupants shivered as they looked around for the cause of the sudden change. She kept it up until the train finally shuddered.

Harry stared at her with wide eyes. His breath fogging in the air in front of him. Did his friend cause this with her magic? The train shuddered and both Malfoy and Ron paled. It was at this moment he realized three things. One, that what is happening is not normal, even for the magical world. Two, Cyrna is terrifying when she wants to be. And three, that if _this_ is magic, he totally wants to learn it. With something like this, maybe the Dursleys will leave him alone in the coming summer.

When the train shudders, she stops unbinding more strands of her magic, and instead, rebinds a bit of her magic till she feels the train stabilize.

Her eyes shine with an intensity like that of scorching fire as she glares at him. Fear is a very real thing that begins to settle into his mind. _He knows that he will not forget these crystal eyes_. Like any Slytherin worth his salt, Draco has fairly decent sense of self-preservation. If he were just a normal Slythering, he would run. But alas, he is a _Malfoy_. And as his father has taught him ever since he could remember, Malfoys _never_ ran from a confrontation with a half-blood.

Relying on nothing but his pride, he remains standing tensely on his spot.

"Leave, Malfoy," the girl said in a lethally calm voice that makes him doubt the wisdom of his father's words. "You are not my better."

The girl—what's her name?—stares at him steadily, though he thinks he spots a hint of pity in her eyes. But that can't be right. What is there to pity about him?

"Besides," she shrugs as she looks away from him dismissively, "We aren't even allowed to fight on the train, and I'm not particularly fond of the idea of being in trouble before school starts."

She's done with the discussion, Draco realizes. And while he isn't sure if it was done purposefully or by accident, she has left him with an opportunity to defuse the situation while keeping the Malfoy pride intact.

He huffed. "The Malfoy family must be an example for other purebloods to follow. I have no time to get in trouble, nor do I have any time to deal with you second-rate people," Draco said haughtily. "I would recommend you all to watch your backs."

With that, he gave Ron and Harry a lingering glare to enforce his statement before he spun around and marched out the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle—useless fools—follow him out.

The compartment is silent. The tension still lingers in the air. "Well," Harry pipes up. "I think Ron is definitely onto something." He gives a small smile when his friends turn to him. "Malfoy is definitely a prick," he says cheerfully though the edge from anger is still apparent in his voice.

"A right bastard," Ron growls.

Cyrna can't find it in herself to disagree or defend the boy in this very moment. She sighs moments later as she finally relaxes. _Well that went differently from the books._

Hearing the quick patter of footsteps, she quickly rebinds the rest of her magic.

"I hope you weren't fighting," Hermione began bossily just as Cyrna has tucked back the last strand. "That's against the rules."

Ron replied with a scowl while Harry just stares at her. Cyrna mournfully cradles her tattered book. _She'll have to cast reparo on that later when there is no one watching._

"Well," Hermione sniffed, "I'll tell you what I've been telling the other first-years: we're nearly at Hogwarts and you should definitely change into your school robes." She paused before continuing, "Oh, and Ron?"

Ron gave her an irritated look.

"You've got dirt on your nose. Might want to clean _that_ before we enter school."

Having said her piece, with a quick flip of her head, she turned and headed out to the next compartment.

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry gave an indifferent shrug when Ron turned his aghast expression on him. _He really didn't think that she was so bad._ The three of them quickly pulled their robes over their head just before the train stuttered to a stop.

o - o - o - o - o

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid yelled.

Harry and Ron quickly piled into a boat. "Come on, Cyrna, let's go!"

Cyrna was about to step in when, from her peripheral vision, she saw Hermione and Neville slowly approach the boat.

"Are you sitting with them?" Hermione asked her as Neville trailed awkwardly behind.

"She's sitting with us," proclaimed Harry and Ron in unison.

Four people to a boat. She couldn't remember exactly, but it made sense that the Golden Trio would be sitting together. And Neville looked so terrified that she wasn't quite sure he wouldn't have a nervous breakdown if she separated him from the others. _That would be an unnecessary hassle._

"Oh, I don't have to sit here if there is no space," Neville piped up in a quivering voice.

Cyrna sighed. She would just have to find another boat—hopefully the one with Daphne. "No it's fine, seeing that you guys came in a pair," she said reasonably to Hermione and Neville, "you can take the seats. I'll find another boat and meet the rest of you at the castle."

"If you were going to sit with them, you really don't need to step aside to allow us the spots—you _were_ here first," said Hermione awkwardly.

"Yeah you were here first!" chimed Ron, not wanting to be seated with the bossy girl.

Cyrna flashed a quick smile at Hermione and Neville. "But I insist," she said teasingly as she grandly gestured for them to board the boat.

Neville gave her a grateful smile as he clambered on while Hermione looked at her curiously before she seated herself in the boat. Harry stared at Cyrna with confusion and a bit of hurt. _Does she not want to sit with_ _us?_

As if she knew his thoughts, she gave him a huge smile. "There will be tons of other chances for us to meet up in Hogwarts, Harry!"

Harry's expression brightened. "I'll find you on the other side then?"

She answers with another grin before she walks away. Harry stares at her. Cyrna is not a warm person, he decides. She is aloof, intelligent, and can sometimes even be a bit terrifying. She is enigmatic and a bit strange—he can never really be sure as to what she is thinking most of the time—but he is sure about one thing: after spending time with her, he likes her. He wants to be friends with her.

 _Friends with the girl with the gentle gleam._


	10. The Sorting

**Chapter 10: The Sorting**

"Daphne," Cyrna greeted. The pale girl was standing close to a tall, thin, brown-haired boy and a black-haired girl with a stocky build and jutting jaw.

"Cyrna," she said with a delicate arch of a brow, "I thought you would be sitting with the Potter boy?"

Cyrna's eyes glimmered teasingly. "While there _are_ many benefits to befriending the boy-who-lived, I haven't forgotten the time when I went to pick up my textbooks at the bookstore with my friend. Lucky how the books were free of price for that day."

Daphne fought to hide her smile at the thought of the groveling man at the bookstore. _That had been such fun._

Her two other companions were watching the proceedings with disdain etched on their faces, but she knew Theodore enough to know that he truly couldn't care less about what was happening right now. Millicent, on the other hand… well, her opinion didn't matter to her. Their families weren't particularly close anyways.

And Cyrna… she shivered as she remembered the magic at the bookstore. She makes her decision.

"Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode of the Sacred Twenty-Eight." She introduced to Cyrna. This girl is interesting. Interesting enough that she was willing to take a bit of risk with her. "Cyrna Raine" she introduced to her companions. "She'll be sitting with us."

Her lips curved into a polite smile as she offered her hand to Cyrna who took it without hesitation. The disdain that she is sure Cyrna sees on the faces of her companions is not unusual. Any good Pureblood has it drilled into their heads to treat Half-bloods who don't benefit them with disdain and Muggle-borns _always_ with disgust. Her impeccable mask of ice that she is renowned for in the circle of Purebloods does not fall once. Not when Theodore threw her a confused look before rolling his eyes and giving a resigned sigh, nor does it fall when Millicent stares at her with shocked disgust.

"Theodore! What are you doing!?" Millicent yelled sharply when the boy made to move towards the boat. "You're just going along with that? She's the one Draco was ranting about! He hates her!"

Cyrna stared back unaffected as Theodore looked her over critically. She'd hang herself if she let the opinions of _children_ affect her.

"Well I don't see what is so special about her—" Millicent's eyes lit up while Daphne's expression remained impassive "—But Daphne is usually the more perceptive of the two of us. Besides," Theodore continued on with his lazy drawl, "a short boat ride with a half-blood has never killed anyone."

The girl spluttered, completely appalled. "But what if Draco sees us with her!"

He gave her a silent stare before turning to give Daphne a small nod. "I'll see you on the boat."

Cyrna watched with a bit of interest as the boy strolled off in a leisurely manner. _So there are groups within the Purebloods too._

"What are you going to do? Follow every whim Draco has? Like what he likes and hate what he hates?" Daphne said icily as soon as Theodore was out of sight. "Grow a brain. Slytherins look out for each other, but first, we look out for our own skin and our own gain."

 _Oh._ Cyrna thanks whatever deity that gave her the marvelous idea of showing off a bit at the bookstore. Quite sharply, she remembers something rather important that had slipped her mind till now: _Power is everything for Slytherin._

"My parents said to stay on Malfoy's good side!"

Daphne eyed Millicent for a while longer until she began to shift uncomfortably under the stare. She gave a sniff of disdain. "Well, lucky for us, _my_ parents brought me up with _some_ form of pride towards my _own_ family. The Greengrass family will make decisions that prioritize our own benefit," she concluded firmly.

"But—"

"If you are content with trailing after the Malfoys like some pathetic stray to get a small share of their profit, then suit yourself." Daphne shrugged as she motioned with a tilt of her head for Cyrna to walk with her to the boat. " _B_ _ut_ _I have my own pride_ , and my ambitions as the heiress of the Greengrass family is far greater than being someone's lapdog."

o - o - o - o - o

The fine balance between invisibility and visibility was something she carefully plotted for—visible just enough to keep a tab on Harry but invisible when shit really hit the fan. It didn't require much intelligence to conclude that she should ask the hat for Ravenclaw. She supposed that Hufflepuff would have suited her purposes even better, but she doubted she would have any chance at being sorted _there_. Besides, one Perenelle had been confusing enough. Give her a whole house of irrationally kind and sympathetic people, and she was sure her brain would short-circuit from overexposure.

Leaning back on her seat, she allowed herself to be mesmerized by the smooth ripples that formed as the little boat glided across the water. From the distance, she could see the castle sitting at the edge of a high cliff. Hogwarts had looked overwhelmingly huge from a distance with its silhouette blocking out a portion of the moon, but as they glided closer, she discovered that the great castle only loomed further and further into the expanse of the starry sky until it was all she could see.

Her eyes widened slightly in stunned awe as her eyes carefully ran over the details of the architecture—the turrets, the arches—oh! A smile crept onto her face as she heard the soft quiet music playing from the castle that seemed to glow warm and invitingly in the dead of night…

It was utterly beautiful.

"Everyone here?" Hagrid bellowed with a merry grin on his face when the fleet of boats reached the shore. He rapped loudly on the tall oaken door. At the third knock, the door abruptly swung open revealing the figure of a stern-looking witch in emerald green robes. "Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid, "I've brought the firs' years."

The witch opened the doors wider. "Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."

o - o - o - o - o

"How exactly do they sort us?" asked Harry.

Seeing Cyrna tilt her head in puzzlement, Ron spoke up. "My brothers said that there would be some sort of test." He shrugged when he saw Harry's horrified expression. "Well that's what the _twins_ said, so it's probably a lie."

Cyrna watched as most of the students panicked silently about the sorting as they waited for Professor McGonagall to return. Many Purebloods looked on with glee until hordes of ghosts streamed in through the walls. Panic changed into a much more vocal thing that students of all sorts of blood purity joined in. Catching Daphne's eye, they silently exchanged looks of amusement.

Walking into the Great Hall was an experience. It seemed to Cyrna that _everything_ was an experience, but it was true! There wasn't anything she could quite compare this to. The ceiling that loomed high above their heads showed the night sky. Stars twinkled and glimmered ethereally as they, along with thousands of floating candles, cast a merry glow on the hall. Golden cutlery gleamed on the four long tables, and faces upon faces stared at them, lining up her periphery as she and the rest of the first-years were lead down the hall.

"Which house do you think you'll be sorted into?" whispered Daphne quietly. Cyrna had separated from Harry and Ron and had ended up near Daphne.

"Probably Ravenclaw," she muttered in reply. "To me, intelligence is more important than anything."

Daphne gave Cyrna a look that she couldn't quite interpret. "Well I suppose if that's the house you want to go to, I wish you all the luck."

"Thank you," Cyrna answered. But she didn't need luck. The Sorting Hat only really sorted you if you didn't ask it for a particular house."And should I wish you the same for Slytherin?"

Daphne hummed noncommittally. "Not necessarily, though I can't imagine myself elsewhere."

Reaching the front of the hall to where all the professors were seated, Professor McGonagall indicated for them to stop. Silently, she transfigured a four-legged stool in front of them, then on top, she placed a tattered hat. _The Sorting Hat._ The hat came to life and began to sing its song.

" _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _if you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

This was the house she wanted. She was sure she qualified for it—she made it to medical school for Merlin's sake; intelligence was _not_ something she lacked.

 _"Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folks use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._ "

The hat ended its song, and Professor McGonagall stepped forward to read the list of names in alphabetical order. "Abbot, Hannah!" she called.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

She sighed in relief when the hat sorted Hermione to Gryffindor. Everything was following the books so far.

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

The hat had just been placed on her head for a few seconds before it pronounced, "SLYTHERIN!"

Cyrna clapped as Daphne calmly join the Slytherin table.

"Cyrna, she's in Slytherin!"

She angled her body sideways to find Harry. "And?" Cyrna prompted.

Harry cast his eyes downwards. "Just surprised is all," he murmured quietly, thinking of the pale girl from the bookstore that had got him the set of books for free. "Ron told me that was where the people who killed my parents were sorted… where _you-know-who_ was sorted."

Cyrna nodded in agreement. "Ron is right. Slytherin is where _most_ of them were from. But," she said quietly, "often the actions of one group of people is not reflective of the House."

Harry scrunched his face in thought, only casting a skeptical glance in her direction when Malfoy and the two boys that reminded him of Dudley were sorted into Slytherin.

Cyrna could only give him a shrug when that happened. She couldn't help it if ambition was strongly correlated to having an overblown ego and self-serving behavior. Not always, but the relationship was undeniably there.

Tuning out the sorting, she glanced at the professors that were sitting lined up in the table in front of her. She saw a small professor that practically vibrated with excitement every time a student was sorted into his house. _Filius Flitwick. Part-goblin_ , her memory supplied to her. _Pomona Sprout_ , she thought as she spotted a squat little witch who had eyes that held a warmth that reminded her of Perenelle. Next, her eyes swept over the Headmaster. When their eyes met, he quirked an enigmatic smile at her, eyes twinkling mischievously. Cyrna quickly averted her eyes. Her ears flushed slightly as a mass of _something_ rushed through her—she wasn't sure how she felt towards the man. Wasn't sure if she admired and respected the man for his genius strategy; for his ability to coldly and steadily lead the Light to victory, or if she… the thin needle of ice that pricked at her chest whenever she thought of the Flamels had yet to leave. _How annoying._

"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall called with a brief smile.

The frown remained on Cyrna's face when she saw Quirrel staring at Harry as hushed murmurs rushed through the hall like wildfire. Nervously, she glanced at the man beside the DADA professor. She was not surprised to see him glaring holes into the boy.

Snape was thin, only a sheer few pounds from gaunt. His face was somewhat similar to his depiction in the Harry Potter movies; they had captured his hooked nose rather accurately. He had sallow skin that was framed by black—black hair, black brows, black eyes, black robes. Curtains of greasy hair hung limply, and though he was supposed to be the youngest professor, the frown lines that seemed to be permanently etched on his face and the aura of severity that cloaked him seemed to age him.

She flinched slightly when onyx eyes captured hers. Its gaze was not icy like Daphne's, but it held a certain blankness and impassiveness that had her immediately wary. The lack of emotion was… scary. _Eerily reminiscent to the sightless gaze of a cadaver._

Her eyes quickly turned back to Harry.

Cyrna had never been more tense for anything in her life—well, that may have been an exaggeration, but if it was, it wasn't by much. Right now, as an anticipatory silence fell over the Hall, she was terrified. Why had she done it—fool! What if she had changed something by defending Slytherin? _Why do I only notice what I shouldn't have done after I've already done it? Oh,_ she knew deep _deep_ down why she had done it.

She was a cautious person by nature, and she held no illusions to the fact that if not Ravenclaw—unlikely—then she would have been in Slytherin. If she was Slytherin _and_ she hadn't defended the House's values to Harry, then she was pretty sure she could bid _that_ 'friendship' goodbye, or, well, whatever relationship she had with Harry at the moment.

Yeah it was recommended for her to keep track of the books, but…

 _But wasn't her life and the security of her future more important to her than keeping a good relationship with Harry?_

o - o - o - o - o

Black eyes by the staff table glared in disgust as Snape watched Potter strut towards the Gryffindor table, ready to bask in the cheers and adoration the house was already shouting towards the boy-who-lived. Black, messy hair. The annoying facial features of James Potter completed with the round glasses that perched on the boy's face. _He's an exact replica of his father_. His teeth gnashed with a bitterness and anger that superseded all normal forms of logic. Oh how he _hated_ Potter.

He seethed in silence at the boy, only stopping when he sensed the weight of a person's gaze. Reigning back the violent emotions into his usual mask of blankness mixed with mild condescension, he turned to be met with blue. It was such a particular shade of blue that he had never forgotten it since the time at the bookshop. He easily masked his surprise at seeing the tiny child— _she was quite a bit smaller than her peers._ He had been uncertain if she would be attending Hogwarts this year.

Through her raven-black bangs, large eyes peered at him with a sort of scrutiny, _with a sort of awareness_ that was uncommonly seen on the typical brats. He studied her in complete impassivity as she studied him. She flinched. He smirked.

As he watched her walk up to the hat, he wondered about the strangeness of the child. There was something to her, and he wasn't just talking about the uncanny intelligence in her eyes. Mastering how to hide your magic… _controlling_ how much you wanted to hide—because her magic right now was like that of the average dunderhead—these things were not simple to do. Then there was also the sheer potency of her magic to think of.

His eyes narrowed in slight anticipation as the hat practically swallowed the upper half of the child's face.

o - o - o - o - o

Cyrna cheered the loudest she had ever cheered as the hat announced "GRYFFINDOR!" for Harry. Thankfully, her voice was drowned out by the pounding and clapping from the Gryffindor tables as they enthusiastically welcomed the boy-who-lived into their house.

Her smile faltered, however, when Harry met her eyes in a fleeting gaze. The small furrow in his brows conveyed an uncharacteristically apologetic and serious expression. "I'm sorry, but I… I just don't think I want to— _can_ —be in the same house as the one who killed mum and dad."

She only had time to nod in understanding before she had found her feet carrying her quickly to the hat once she heard, "Raine, Cyrna."

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head, and she was met by an unnaturally long silence once the hat was on. _I don't think this is how this is supposed to go._ After sitting for a few minutes that felt more like hours, she shifted uncomfortably on the stool, prepared to take off the hat to inquire as to whether it was broken or not. That was what she would have done at least if a sudden crackling voice hadn't stopped her.

"I'm not broken, strange child," said the Hat, "but your mind might be."

 _Broken?_ "How so? Can you not sort me?"

"I can, but there are some blacked out spots in your memory that I can't seem to see to matter what I do… and what I _do_ see is something unbelievable…"

Cyrna holds her breath.

"Memories that start only from the summer of 1990 though you are clearly much older than that… no signs of mind magic affecting you," the hat mutters to itself as it shifts with slight agitation on her head. "It's almost as if your mind exists as a separate entity from your body…"

"Then just sort me somewhere based on the memories you see," Cyrna quickly interrupts. _She doesn't want the hat to know any more._ "Actually, just put me in Ravenclaw."

"Ah, but why Ravenclaw?" asked the Hat, seeming to come to life at her statement. "I agree that you would never fit in with the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs, but what about Slytherin? You know, you are quite the Slytherin too."

"Because there is nothing more important than knowledge," she recited in a rush to dissuade the hat. "If you have knowledge, you virtually have the ability to attain anything you want. You could make money easily if you're intelligent, you pretty much flourish in anything you wanted to do."

"Is that it?" The Hat sounds chiding as it digs through her memories. "Child, have you forgotten that I'm bound by an oath created by Godric to never speak of one's sorting to another? You may speak honestly."

Cyrna scoffs dismissively though a nervousness begins to build. "Whatever you find is irrelevant. I'm sure I would do better in Ravenclaw."

"Because knowledge is the most efficient tool to survive in the world," muses the Hat as that particular thought echoes in every study session, in almost every piece of her interaction she has with other people. "Is that not what you think?"

The Hat doesn't wait for her reply. "Ravenclaws learn for the sake of learning _—_ for the simple joy they find in expanding their knowledge. When have you ever learned something for that reason?"

"I—"

"Like your attitude towards people, you discard facts and pieces of information that you would deem—and perhaps rightfully so—as useless in your daily life while a Ravenclaw would hoard such knowledge."

"That's irrational," Cyrna said with another scoff. "Ravenclaw is the most logical house in Hogwarts."

"Yes, but sometimes even the most logical person may be prone to irrational judgments when faced with certain things," the hat says, thinking of Rowena Ravenclaw. "What one may view as irrational may be rational to another."

"But—"

"Every action you have taken was for self-preservation—"

" _Everyone_ besides Gryffindors would have some level of self-preservation," Cyrna refutes. The nervousness only builds.

The hat finally falls silent, and Cyrna finds herself slightly irritated that it hasn't just yelled out 'Ravenclaw!' already. She can hear Professor McGonagall shift beside her. How long has it been if even a _professor_ is uncertain as to what is happening?

Finally, the hat speaks, and the roaring sound she thought she has forgotten begins to build in her ears with its every word. "I think," it chuckled sadly, "that even among the Slytherins, you would find many willing to lay down their life for someone or for a purpose that they cared for. That is the 'sympathy' you are seeking to understand, no?"

"But what am I, if not defined by my intelligence?" Cyrna thinks faintly. That was all the people had praised and complimented her for in her past world. "Take it away and you are left with nothing—nothing special at least. Knowledge and intelligence are important to me," she restated. "Ravenclaw would help me develop my strengths—develop _me_."

There was a pause then— "It's tragic to see someone so young think the way you do."

Cyrna's breath caught in her throat. _Was she being pitied?_

"Truly, you could be so much more than your intelligence and knowledge if you would just give yourself a chance… and it is for this reason that I will sort you in—"

"—Wait!" cried Cyrna when she realized what the hat was going to say. However it was all for naught for once the Hat made its decision, it would stay with it. She watched with a sick and helpless feeling as her finely knit plans for surviving the Harry Potter universe shattered before her eyes when the Hat seemingly proclaimed the one word which would condemn her:

"SLYTHERIN!"


	11. Her Move

**Chapter 11: Her Move**

Cyrna listened numbly as the Hat announced her house. The desperation which had risen soon grew into a muted anger that seemed to rage uncontrollably in the back of her mind though there _was_ a part of her that watched the scene play out in detached amusement. _It was almost funny how_ _Life seem_ _ed_ _so intent on destroying every plan_ _she made._ Hands that felt as if they were not her own, raised from her lap into the air, preparing to take off the Hat. _She had everything one could want in her last life, and Life had ripped it away from her. Now, the plan she had meticulously prepared for…_ _it too was gone._

She felt as a slight twang of hysteria welled up in her, forcing a bitter laugh to escape her lips. _There's no way_ _the story won't affect me if I am in_ _Slytherin_. The foreign hands lifted the Hat from her head and set it back on the stool.

 _Oh how she hated this pathetic game._

She slid off the stool, the polite applause of the students and the professors registering somewhere in the back of her mind. _It's as if Life is mocking me._ The spark of anger grew dangerously, and with much more focus, she tightened her grip on her magic to prevent it from revealing itself. She'd show LIfe, she thought with a hiss. It could deal her all the crappy cards it wanted, but she'd make damn sure she'd survive to see the end.

 _She'd win that damn game this time._

Taking a deep, controlled breath, she tucked away her anger because it was utterly useless and distracting at this very moment. _Observe, and see what pieces I have in my hand._ The sounds and the ambiance of the Great Hall seemed to fade into the background as her focus zeroed in on the Gryffindor table. Rapidly, her eyes scanned through numerous faces in search of one. Vivid green met crystal eyes, and she forced her expression into a warm grin that she often saw Perenelle wear on her face. With cold satisfaction, she watched as Harry replied with a small smile and a wave.

"Let's meet later!" She mouthed in an exaggerated fashion, making sure to emphasize each syllable before answering with a wave of her own. Her fleeting gaze took in Ron as she turned to head to the Slytherin table. The confusion in Ron's eyes before he averted his glance was not the most promising, but it was certainly better than anger. _I can work with that._

Even if she couldn't, she just needed to repair her relationship with the Weasley so that they could tolerate each other. Ultimately, he wasn't necessary.

"Turpin, Lisa," Professor McGonagall called.

Cyrna froze one step away from the stool as she watched as Draco, with his eyes still on hers, lean to the student beside him and whisper something. They looked at her before turning back to Draco, snickering.

She heard scornful whispers of "half-blood" from the Slytherins as she took another step away from the stool.

Her eyes darted towards Daphne only to be met with a blank expression. A slight shrug from the brunette girl's shoulders told her everything. _She was on her own_.

But that was fine. Alone was how she functioned best. She breathed another calming breath as she thought of the Slytherin girl. Walking into Slytherin meant walking into a world where everybody but Purebloods would be discriminated once they were out of the public's sight. _Intolerable._ She needed an ally—and Daphne with her status and her lack of a role in the books was _perfect._

Daphne was a Slytherin through and through, and wasn't that _absolutely perfect_ , because _they_ were something she could understand. _A favour for a favour_. There was no reason why she should expect Daphne to help when the situation called for her to publicly defend a half-blood and risk her own standing without an obvious reason. Right now, she was rather like an ordinary witch of her age—how was Daphne supposed to prove to the others that she was a worthy investment when she was hiding her magic?

 _Slytherins desire power above all else._

According to Perenelle, she had an abundance. But according to Perenelle, she should also hide her magic.

The Slytherins had by now stopped snickering, but she knew, oh she _knew_ by the ways their eyes glinted, by the way they flashed with condescension and superiority… she'd have no peace in that house. Perhaps she could have been ignored if she were any other Half-blood, but seeing as the Malfoy boy had it out for her, the rest of the House was sure to follow his lead to varying extents. It wouldn't do for a Pureblood family, much less one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to lose face. _Intolerable._

Could she really lay down and allow these _children_ to mock her for the next few years even if it was for the sake of the story? She gritted her teeth.

 _To endure misery when I finally have a chance to experience this world?_

Was there _really_ no other way for her to survive the war? Her eyes flash with defiance as she glared at those smug gray eyes.

 _And can I really ex_ _pect Daphne to risk her reputation for me when I'm not willing to risk myself_ _?_

Her hands felt clammy, sweaty, as she narrowed her eyes coldly at the Slytherin house. Life had its turn, now it was _hers._

 _Time to make m_ _y move_ _._

o - o - o - o - o

 _So the child is in my House_ , Snape mused as the ratty hat finally shouted out her house. He took sick pleasure at seeing the Potter's face fall when he realized his friend would not be a lion. He sneered, pleased that something had not gone Potter's way.

His brow lifted slightly when he saw the child freeze after taking a few steps from the stool. Her eyes were cold as they stared in the direction of the Slytherin table. Following her gaze, his eyes narrowed in displeasure as he watched his Slytherins quietly jeer at their newest member under the direction of the Malfoy scion. He had expected better from some of his upper-years. But he supposed, with no small amount of derision, that dunderheads would always be dunderheads. Those little idiots had clearly not grown a second brain cell from their years in Hogwarts— _he'd have to remedy that_.

He wouldn't have a member alienated in _public_. _Idiots the lot of them._ There was a reason why unity was a characteristic—practically a tradition of the Slytherin House.

Slipping his wand out from his holster, he gave a subtle flick to send a strongly worded message to the Slytherin Prefect. The Prefect glanced at him then at the message. He watched, his face completely blank, as the Prefect flinched then hurried to shush the other members of the House. For the particularly stubborn members, the Prefect only had to show the message before they quickly clammed up and fell back in line. Some of the younger students who had yet to learn had chanced a glance at him and had immediately cowered when he narrowed his gaze at them with an added hint of steel. _He would not be disobeyed within his own House._

Politely, the House cheered as the girl approached the table.

This was all he would do to help the girl. If she wanted to survive in his House, she'd have to do so on her own power. _Pity that she chose to upset Malfoy. A waste._

His impassive gaze swept towards the next dunderhead who had walked up to the sorting, when suddenly he felt himself tense. His eyes flashed back to the girl and widened imperceptibly. A defiant gleam was burning coldly in her eyes.

 _The idiotic brat was going to do something._ He sat up straighter and glared at the stupid girl. Rigidly he waited. One step. Two. Three—

—Instinctively his hand tightened on his wand at the abrupt shift in magic. Candles closest to her began to flicker as the air began to build in pressure. He felt his own breath quicken before he quickly occluded and regained full control of his body. Her magic _roared_ with each step she took; students from all houses were now looking around uneasily. They knew _something_ was happening. From the corner of his eyes, Snape saw Dumbledore lean forward in his seat, his eyes focused on the girl.

She didn't seem to notice the attention she held as her eyes flashed with a terrifying cold resolve. She did not hesitate as she passed him by. The air grew heavier; air saturated with magic. Silver strands danced around her and he _swore_ that he could feel a breath of wind trail after her.

He gave a small incline of his head when his eyes met those of the Headmaster. He'd definitely have to keep a _very_ close tab on that blasted girl. Seeing the shocked expression of the Malfoy boy as the girl glared at him, he allowed a small smirk to cross his lips.

 _Perhaps she would survive his House after all._

He relaxed back into his seat slightly. Idly, he glanced at his neighboring professor and was immediately alarmed. _The almost manic glint as he stared at his Slytherin_. He rested his fingers lightly on his wand as he averted his gaze elsewhere, his face a mask of perfect neutrality. The girl was more trouble than she was worth. Now he was tasked with three rather than two to watch: the blasted girl, the Potter boy, and finally…

 _Dumbledore was right to tell me to keep an eye on Quirrell._

o - o - o - o - o

 _If power is what you worship above all else, then I will show you mine._

One by one, the magic she had bound and hidden was released. As if sensing their imminent freedom, her magic pulsed in anticipation and pushed against the restraints. Unraveling each silver strand caused more magic burst forth from her, and soon her head was dizzy from the sudden rush as her magic roared around her. Pushing through the dizziness, she unbound more and more strands. The rushing sound returned with a vengeance, and soon, her control began to slip.

 _Hopefully the Slytherins won't realize that my show of power is just a bluff._ It wasn't like she could actually do anything with the magic. She hadn't learn wandless magic.

Strands upon strands began to unravel quickly, and she could feel her strength waning as she frantically tried to halt more of the strands from unbinding. _Perenelle would be so upset with me_ , she thought faintly to herself. _That's why Perenelle lectured me to never unbind large quantities of magic all at once._ Her fists tightened by her side. Her back broke into a sheen of sweat. It was a bit like being drunk. She almost wobbled as she was hit with the sudden influx of magic. _She had to end this._

She focused on placing one foot in front of the other—she was _so tired._

She wracked her mind for what to do. She doubted that she would have the energy to recall her magic. She gritted her teeth in frustration, then her eyes widened slightly. Wait. Why _did_ she have to rebind her magic? _What was the point in hiding it now?_

 _Why hide what everyone already knows?_

Bracing herself once more she tightened her grip on the strands that had yet to escape her binds, and carefully, she grabbed some of her magic that had escaped and directed it to weave and intertwine with her bound magic to form a tight-knit cloak around herself. She heard Perenelle's voice guiding her through the instructions on how to do so. _She would remember them_. They had spent _months_ learning how to bind and unbind her magic. This was just a larger scale.

She held her breath as her magic rebelled and bucked against her makeshift restraint, but eventually it finally listened and subsided. Her hand trembled faintly. Whatever magic that was out right now, she would just have to leave out for now.

Daphne's lips curved up into a welcoming smile as she approached the table, eyes betraying only the slightest hint of the awe that she felt.

"Cyrna. Sit with me," Daphne beckoned her to the seat at her side, silently telling Theodore to shift over one. She could barely believe that the magic she had seen in the bookstore was only a fraction of what she could currently feel… _Her risk would pay off_. Her smile turned a bit smug. _She could feel the denseness of the magic even if she couldn't see it._ The hairs on her arms prickled, and she repressed a shiver as Cyrna brushed her as she settled down on the seat.

Daphne frowned however when she saw Cyrna's hand trembling slightly. It seemed that the more magic she revealed, the harder it was for her to keep her control. _This wouldn't do._

 _"There are many rules that a Pureblood must live by, but there are three important ones," said her father. "Number one. The winner is the one that out-survives everyone. Allies and friends are things to help further your chances to win."_

 _She cocked her head, not really understanding._

 _"Number two. Power is more important than anything—with perhaps the exception of your survival. And the third," her father settled her on his lap. "Never, never show any weakness."_

Sitting down, the world seemed to shift and blur together. Cyrna saw shades of black and grey as she resolutely stared at the blurring golden plates and utensils placed on the table. Faintly, she heard a jovial voice exclaim some nonsensical words before the crowds of students broke into cheers and applause.

"Cyrna… _Cyrna!_ " hissed a voice beside her.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

Suddenly she felt a sting of pain on the back of her hand. She immediately jerked her hand back, and despite her fatigue, her mind focused slightly on the pale fingers that had pinched.

"I'm going to spell a Pepper-up potion—" Daphne discreetly revealed a bottle for her to examine—"into your water."

Cyrna stared blankly at Daphne, her mind slowly registering what was being said. The colour looked correct—she'd brewed many of these potions at her time with Nicolas. Really, she should have scented the potion too, but _she was tired_. She pursed her lips slightly and slowly nodded. It would benefit Daphne too that she didn't collapse at this moment.

 _Hopefully it'd last dinner,_ Cyrna thought as she thanked Daphne.

o - o - o - o - o

"Beef, chicken, pork, or lamb?" asked Daphne as she reached for more gravy.

"Lamb, probably," said Cyrna. The boy beside her—Theodore was it?—silently passed her the plate of lamb chops. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied in a dismissive tone.

"I myself prefer the roast chicken," said Daphne, "it's not bad."

"Really?" Theodore asked, teasing apparent in his tone. "I would have thought that someone of your status would have preferred beef or lamb—"

"—Says the person of a similar upbringing who has a plate filled with roast pork," Daphne said with a small smirk.

"Not much I can do about it." Theodore shrugged. "Our new friend here," he gestured at Cyrna, "appears to enjoy her lamb, which is the only other dish near me. So since I gave her the lamb, I'm—unfortunately—left with the pork."

"Nott," scoffed a tall, dark-skinned boy seated across from Malfoy, "the beef is an arm's reach away from you."

"For you perhaps, Zabini. But I'm afraid the beef is quite a distance away for _my_ arms. I'm nowhere near as tall or lanky as you yet."

The boy rolled his eyes in response just as the girl seated next to him leaned over to meet Cyrna's eyes, brown hair carelessly brushing over the Yorkshire pudding sitting on Daphne's dish, and spoke in a voice filled with contempt, "I heard you're a Half-blood?"

Cyrna smiled in a friendly manner. "I am."

"So your blood is half filthy," she sneered.

"Afraid so," replied Cyrna keeping her smile with a bit of effort. _She had no patience for this right now._ "And you are?"

She leaned back and straightened her posture. "Pansy Parkinson, heiress of the Parkinson family, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A _Pureblood._ "

"Ah. I've heard of you!" Cyrna brightened her expression.

"Oh?"

"Well when I was reading up on a bit of politics, I found it interesting how closely associated your family was with the Malfoys! I couldn't find a single article about your family on its own, but I saw your name" _among many others_ "mentioned somewhere in most of the articles that were about the Malfoys, and I thought to myself how incredibly intelligent your family must be to be able to keep up with the coattails of a family as prestigious as the Malfoys."

Pansy blinked at her as she felt the people sitting around her tense. "Thank you, I suppose?"

"Ah yes!" Cyrna chirped. "Such incredibly independent thinking shown from your family! Fantastic!"

Pansy smirked with an air of superiority. "Well the Parkinsons _have_ made impressive achievements."

Draco sighed while Daphne made a strange choking noise. "Excuse me," she said politely when Pansy stared at her. She hid a wicked smile behind her cup as she took a sip of water.

"Ah, the intelligence shows," Theodore muttered dryly. He helped himself to a beautiful piece of chocolate cake with a frightening amount of icing on top. Dinner was sure to be entertaining when Pansy finally figured out that she had been insulted.

o - o - o - o - o

"That was terrible," muttered Draco as the first-year Slytherins followed their Prefect down into dungeons.

 _For once, I_ _might have to_ _agree with Malfoy_. Cyrna shivered as she recalled the school song.

The dark, winding corridors was decorated only by the occasional candles. They flickered eerily, casting strange shadows across the cobblestone walls. The taps of the footsteps from the first-years echoed loudly as they approached a long hallway that seemed to stretch continuously into the dark.

"And here we are!" exclaimed the prefect.

They had stopped at what seemed to be a random part of a hallway. Both ends of the corridors showed only stretches upon stretches of darkness.

"Here?" Daphne questioned with a hint of distaste. She sighed. "Finding the rooms are going to be _such_ a pain."

Cyrna made a noncommittal sound. "If the candles don't change position, then we just need to walk till the twentieth candle."

Daphne and Theodore stared at her. Perhaps they would have gaped if they hadn't been ingrained to do otherwise. "You were counting?" Theodore asked dryly.

Cyrna blinked at them. "You weren't?" she asked in return. They stared at her strangely, so she quickly looked away with a small scoff. "I don't have a habit of trusting strangers to lead me around in random dark-lit corridors. I tried to remember the route here just in case."

"Right," said Daphne slowly as she exchanged a glance with Theodore.

The prefect tapped the stone right under the shadow of the candle, and the wall seemed to shudder as a soft rumbling, if you listened very closely, sounded. "Then you say the password— _Unity_."

The rumbling quickly died down once the password was said and the wall, which previously had been solid stone, melted into the shadows to form an archway into a room that glowed softly with a pale green light.

"Girls up the stairs on the right and boys on the left."

Cyrna slowly followed the group of first-year Slytherins into the common room. She felt a sudden jolt as the potion began to lose its effect, and the dizziness and exhaustion began to creep back with a vengeance. The fact that it was multiplied by the after-effects of the potion did not help.

 _"Hey, Cyrna…."_

 _"Cyrna!"_

She vaguely registered a voice call her name as she stumbled over a plush emerald rug and collapsed into a bed just after kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs under the blankets. She closed her eyes and her breath evened out into a deep slumber.


	12. Slytherin

**Chapter 12: Slytherin**

A small raven-haired child sat huddled in the corner of a dark room. There were no windows. No light. Loud, joyous laughter along with the occasional conversation could be heard from above. The thumps on the ceiling of the room indicated that there were people walking around.

There was a time when the child had tried to leave the dark room. Tapping on the walls. Crying. Screaming. However, soon she learnt that it was all in vain. The door that she found after dragging her body up four flights of stairs never opened no matter how many times she threw herself against it. It was completely sealed shut without allowing a single stream of light to shine through.

Still. She remembered.

She remembered the time when she had first opened her eyes and had seen the world.

She remembered the circle of elders that huddled around her with expressions of panic.

She remembered gazing at the endless blue sky in the arms of a black-haired man who carried her roughly across lush green fields, before arriving at a beautiful mansion.

She remembered the beauty of the day, and the majesty of the night as the stars glimmered quietly.

She remembered the light. The world.

She remembered.

The child remained huddled for a moment longer before she flexed her wrist, causing a spark of flame to appear shimmering just above her palm. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed, hypnotized by her only source of light, and made a wish.

 _"Just once more. I wish to see the world."_

* * *

With every passing moment, the harder it became to breathe. Her breath quickened gradually and eventually her mind began to surface into consciousness.

 _'What's happening?'_ she thought groggily, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her.

She took a deep breath with her mouth, and instantly choked on a mouthful of hair—

—or was it fur?

Cyrna's eyes flew open, and right in front of her, was a white fluffy bush of fur that was lazily moving up and down across her face. Her arms felt heavy as she tiredly lifted them to push the bundle of fluff that was purring contentedly by her ear.

"You're lucky that school starts on Tuesday."

Cyrna shifted painfully to sit up, every muscle resisting movement.

"Good morning, Daphne," she greeted drowsily, rubbing her eyes as Prince meowed unhappily now that his source of warmth was gone. The sheets rustled as Cyrna got out of bed and blearily slipped on her shoes that had been tossed haphazardly by her bed. "What time is it?"

"Definitely not morning," came Daphne's voice from the desk by the windows. "You're thirty minutes into lunch break."

"Wait that means," said Cyrna, mind gradually coming to full alertness, "that I've slept for _sixteen hours?_ " Her eyes widened incredulously. "I've missed History," she groaned as she thought of the class schedule that she had received during dinner last night.

"It's fine," said Daphne as she turned around to face Cyrna from her desk, "we didn't really learn much—and honestly, most of the students were also sleeping."

"Yeah, and missing the first class on the first day of school is definitely going to make a great first expression on the teachers," Cyrna muttered sarcastically.

Daphne shrugged, "well I heard from the upper years that our Head of House doesn't care too much about History and Astronomy. Of course, he'll never verbally give us permission to skip it, but he won't rebuke us either for skipping, and—"

"—and that is basically him giving us a pass to skip the class," finished Cyrna.

"Or at least every so often," said Daphne with a grin, "actually, I'm surprised you're even awake right now. I thought you'd be much more exhausted from your performance yesterday."

Cyrna smiled sheepishly as she gingerly made her way to the bathroom. "Well if awake means feeling like death washed over you, then—" she shrugged—"I guess you can say I'm awake."

Daphne snorted in amusement, and for the next few moments, only the sounds of writing and the occasional sound of water pouring out from the tap could be heard.

"I told the other girls that you slept in because you didn't really care about going to History when they asked," Daphne suddenly spoke from the silence.

"Oh."

' _I should have tried to stay awake to a decent time to avoid suspicion_ ,' thought Cyrna regretfully, ' _the explanation Daphne made is not bad, but it is flawed… still, it's better than answering honestly and telling them that I was exhausted from controlling my magic._ '

Cyrna sighed. "I hope they won't examine the explanation in detail."

"Do you really think Pansy and Millicent have the intelligence to do that?" Daphne snorted, voice dripping with scorn.

"It's unprobable, but possible."

A brow arched in response, "you give them too much credit, but I guess being careful has never cost anyone."

* * *

Blue eyes blinked open, and Prince ruffled his fur before jumping gracefully off the bed and strolling up to Cyrna who was brushing her teeth. His stomach growled as he sidled up to Cyrna's leg, purring loudly.

Finished rinsing her mouth, Cyrna knelt down and scooped Prince up. "Time for food, hm?" she murmured quietly against his ears.

Prince's ears twitched, and he hopped out of her arms and sprinted out the dormitory.

"Heading for lunch?" asked Daphne, who had turned back to face the stack of papers lying on her desk.

"Yes."

Cyrna hurriedly checked for her wand and attempted to straighten her robes.

"Then you had better hurry because class starts in twenty minutes," said Daphne amusedly.

Cyrna glanced once at the clock that sat on top of the fireplace before she rushed to grab her Transfiguration textbook and notebooks.

"I'll find you later then!" Cyrna called as she dashed out of the Slytherin common room.

Daphne smiled in response before she turned her attention back to the paper lying on her desk. She continued to write, occasionally changing some parts before she appeared to be satisfied.

A while later, a shrill whistle was heard followed by a blur hurtling through the air a few seconds later.

"Regulus," said Daphne as the owl landed lightly on the perch that hung above her desk. It gazed steadily at her; its golden feathers flecked with black shimmered softly under the firelight. Daphne took one last look at the letter she had written before signing her name at the bottom of the page.

Five more minutes left till class showed the clock.

The quiet rustling of paper accompanied by the crackling of the flames filled the room as Daphne quickly sealed the envelope. She waited for the wax to cool down slightly before stamping her family insignia on the envelope.

"To tell father I've met someone interesting," Daphne murmured softly to her owl as she fastened the letter on its leg. Its charcoal-coloured beak opened as it trilled quietly in response before it spread its wings and soared away.

* * *

"Prince, Prince!" called Cyrna as she exited the common room. "Where has he gone?" she muttered as she slowly made her way up the stairs.

Despite being in the middle of the day, the darkness of the dungeons remained, and now that she could see slightly better, she noted that the walls, in some areas, seemed to be damp, though there were never any puddles on the ground.

All in all, along with the occasional dripping sounds, the dungeon was not the cheeriest place in Hogwarts. She picked up her pace when she heard a bell ring, signifying, what she assumed to be, the last fifteen minutes of lunch break. Within a few moments she was out, and just as she exited near the Entrance Hall, she spotted a white streak turning into the Great Hall.

Cyrna sighed and followed in.

The Great Hall, unlike the time at the dinner feast, was fairly empty. Most of the students had eaten and were either heading to their next class or to the library or common room for studying and socializing; still, there were a few students from each of the houses chattering amicably or studying quietly by themselves. She headed towards the Slytherin table and sat down on an empty spot, and instantly a few plates filled with an assortment of foods appeared before her.

She had been helping herself to a second spoon of mash potatoes when she heard a persistent meow from behind her.

"Finally here, Prince?" asked Cyrna with a mouthful of food.

She expected to either hear a meow in response or feel the usual brush of fur as Prince sidled up to her, asking to be fed. Instead—

—" _Prince_?"

Her hand which had been outstretched to scoop more potatoes paused mid-action. Her grip on the spoon tightened before it relaxed. She finished the action, and once she had her mash potatoes resting on her plate, she turned around with a beguilingly neutral expression.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she greeted carefully.

His face remained impassive, his gaze cold as he slowly raised an eyebrow in impatience.

The depthless eyes boring into hers seemed to be capable of reading her every thought and secret—which, Cyrna realized, could be happening.

Quickly, she shifted her gaze so that she was looking just below his eyes.

"Oh Prince is the name of my cat," she said, her mouth dry as she stared at Prince in trepidation who continued to sniff and paw at the hem of the Professor's black robes, leaving trails of white hair in his wake.

The eyebrow arched further. Unimpressed.

Cyrna laughed nervously.

The professor's narrowed eyes seemed to analyze her for a moment longer before being replaced by an unnaturally empty gaze as he looked down impassively at Prince. His lips twisted down unpleasantly in displeasure at the sight of his robes slowly being covered with white.

He gave a sharp yank on the robe, sending the ball of fur tumbling back towards Cyrna's feet. His eyes snapped towards Cyrna, noting the expression of surprise that crossed her face before she fell back to a blank expression.

"You would do well to look after your cat," Snape drawled, "before he ends up with the... _misfortune_ of participating as an ingredient in one of my potions."

Prince meowed piteously as he made to move towards the black-clad Professor.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted off from the ground into familiar arms. His human whispered gently to him, all the while scratching the back of his ears just the way he liked it. He purred contentedly and relaxed into the arms.

"Yes sir," answered Cyrna deferentially, "my apologies."

 _Don't pick unnecessary fights, Cyrna—especially one that'll make your school life ten times more taxing._

She felt the probing gaze roam over her face. The Professor's thin lips twisted into a thoughtful frown for a moment before smoothing out. "And I _do_ hope your class-skipping tendencies will not persist till Friday," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm, before he swept off towards the exit of the Great Hall.

Cyrna made a mental note to never miss her Potions class, no matter what the cost.

Still, she frowned, staring at Prince as she walked to class, "Why were you bothering him, Prince?" she asked her cat, who appeared to be sleeping, "You're never friendly with strangers."

A content purr rumbling through the cat was the only response.

* * *

"Transfigurations," Professor McGonagall started when all the students had arrived, "is an art—a branch of magic that can change the form and appearance of an object… or person."

Sounds of quills scratching the paper filled the room as the Ravenclaws rushed to copy down the speech word for word.

"However," she paused, taking the time to meet each student's gaze sternly, "it is also some of the most complex and _dangerous_ magic—"

" _Sick_ ," whispered Malfoy with a smile to Goyle, who grunted in response.

"I've heard it's one of the hardest classes in Hogwarts," muttered Daphne quietly to Cyrna who was copying down the Professor's introduction.

"Mhm," answered Cyrna distractedly, "There is a lot of science and calculations needed for Transfigurations—especially in the upper levels…" Cyrna flipped open the textbook to the pages that, based on the outline, would be covered in today's lesson and scanned them, "... extremely specific conditions have to be met for the transformation formula to be applied successfully for the more complex stuff."

"Very good, Ms. Raine."

Cyrna looked up from the textbook to see Professor McGonagall looking at her with a curious expression before she continued pacing across the classroom.

"As your classmate said, Transfigurations can become quite complex, and thus, quite dangerous. Anyone," she stressed, " _anyone_ messing around in my class will leave and _not_ come back. You have been warned."

Professor McGonagall levelled one last severe glance at the class collectively before she turned to the board and began the lecture. She spoke in a normal volume, yet her voice seemed to echo throughout the room, commanding attention.

There were all sorts of students in the class. Some began dozing off after the first 20 minutes of lecture, while others were frantically writing everything down. Some just sat and listened attentively to the Professor, and others stared blankly at the board, not understanding what was being taught.

"Sure you shouldn't have been placed in Ravenclaw, Raine?" sneered Malfoy as he watched her take notes from the lecture. "There is no need for _Slytherins_ to lower themselves down to do such tasks," he bragged, " _my father_ has already arranged an agreement with a top student from Ravenclaw, second year, to give me his notes and work—oh, but then again, you're just a common _Half-blood_." He smirked, "You've got no connections with any of the upper years."

"True," said Cyrna absentmindedly as she continued to focus on the lecture, ignoring the perceived insult, "but I'll remember and understand the material better if I make my own notes."

Malfoy snorted, "Like I said. Ravenclaw. I just need to pass with a high score—I'm sure father will figure something out for the exam."

"I thought you were interested in Transfigurations," noted Cyrna with a bit of surprise.

"Yeah. It sounds wicked," Malfoy replied carelessly, "If I end up being good at it, then great. If I don't, it's no huge loss—after all, I'll inherit the Malfoy estate. I'm not going to waste time stressing over school when I'm already destined to be one of the richest in Wizarding Britain."

Parkinson giggled quietly by Malfoy's side, "Yes, Raine, if we truly wanted to learn, _we_ wouldn't come to Hogwarts. _We'd stay at home_. It's not hard getting private tutors that are just as good, if not more famous than some of the Professors here."

Cyrna paused in her writing. She frowned.

"Surely not every Slytherin thinks that."

She subtly shifted her gaze to Daphne who appeared to have written only one or two sentences down on her page. Daphne caught her gaze before she looked away and began fiddling with her quill.

"Well," Daphne cleared her throat, "Most of the Pureblood family heirs have already been tutored on the core subjects, or at least the practical parts of it." Daphne's gaze darted briefly towards Cyrna. "What Pansy said _is_ true for most Slytherins," she whispered awkwardly, "we— _myself included_ —didn't come here to learn." Her focus returned to the Professor who was now moving onto a practical demonstration of Transfigurations by changing her desk to a pig, then back again. "Can you guess why we are here, Cyrna?"

 _…well I heard from the upper years…_

 _…an agreement with a top student…_

 _…no connections…_

"To form connections…" Cyrna murmured thoughtfully, "with the upper students, but also with your peers. You're looking for potential business partners—people that may be useful to you in the future."

"Mm, yeah," said Parkinson, idly twirling a strand of her hair, "that _does_ sound similar to what my parents told me to do."

 _A valid line of thinking_ , Cyrna mused as she scribbled down the diagram on the chalkboard onto her notebook, _but for me, knowledge and information could be the difference between life and death_.

* * *

Daphne stretched leisurely on the couch by the windows in the common room. "And that's one day down," she yawned.

"Whoever had the idea of giving us a double period of Transfigurations _needs_ to be fired," muttered Draco as he sat down with a huff.

Theodore smirked, "Upset that the first lesson wasn't as easy as you expected?"

"Well, I may have struggled, but at least my match turned somewhat silver… unlike _someone's_ ," smirked Malfoy, gazing at Cyrna who had holed herself in the study corner of the room ever since they had left Transfigurations.

Pansy giggled while Daphne shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"You keep forgetting, _Draco dear_ , that _her_ blood is _different_ from ours," said Pansy gaily, "you can't expect her to perform as well as _us_."

Draco snickered.

"Maybe she just needs time," said Theodore with a bored voice, "I know I wasn't able to do it immediately the first time."

Shrill laughter was heard followed by soft snickering, "Yeah, but it's the first time that someone has been unable to cause _any_ change on the match. You should have seen McGonagall's expression when she watched Raine attempt to transfigure it into a needle, and _nothing_ —not even a twitch—happened," said Pansy.

"Yes, that _must_ have been the highlight of my day—"

"Actually," Daphne interjected Draco pensively, "what is strange is that out of all of us, I think Cyrna was the one who truly understood the formula and the purpose for each step."

"Did she?" asked Pansy with a smirk.

"Yes. She broke down the components of each step for me when we were practising, and after she explained the formula and the reasons, I was able to fully transfigure my match."

"Daphne _was_ the only one with a perfect needle at the end," added Blaise as he strolled into the room, "and can I add—thank Merlin our astronomy lab doesn't start today?"

"It'll start next week once we have our lecture," answered Daphne distractedly.

"I'm not going to deal with it," Draco drawled as he relaxed on the couch, "I'll just pay a Ravenclaw to do my lab for me—it's not like Sinistra supervises the labs…"

The aimless conversation continued on for a few hours, and during this time, Daphne contemplated on the strangeness that was her new companion:

 _She's intelligent and powerful—even if she can't control all of it yet… she understood the theory behind the formula as if it was nothing but simple math to her…_

 _Why wasn't she able to transfigure the match?_

Eyebrows slightly furrowed, Daphne politely excused herself from the group of Slytherins that had clustered around the couches and made her way over to the small study lounge.

"Hey Cyrna," she greeted as she walked towards the raven-haired girl who was frantically flipping through several books and jotting down notes every so and then, "how's the studying going?"

The scrawling stopped abruptly. The hand holding the quill shook for a second before it relaxed and placed the quill down on the table.

Daphne heard a quiet release of breath before Cyrna turned around.

The pale green light which lit up the Slytherin room glowed softly across Cyrna's features, and the play of aqua-coloured light from the lake water outside the windows along with her companion's pitch-black hair and pale skin only seemed to accentuate those blue eyes.

She watched her companion's mouth move, but her only focus was on the eyes that seemed to glow brighter and brighter as Cyrna continued to talk on. The way they reflected the light… they shone like gems… crystals. It was unnatural. Offsetting. They glowed eerily in the darkness, painting an ephemeral look on Cyrna.

But…

They were also utterly captivating, and for a moment, under the blue-green light, she believed she was no longer talking to a human—rather, she was talking to a faerie, a creature of legends.

Suddenly

A small, thin stick was thrust into her vision, breaking whatever spell she felt she had been under.

"See," she heard the frustrated voice of her companion, "it doesn't matter what I do, it still remains the same!"

Daphne blinked a couple of times to clear her mind. She subtly shifted her gaze back on Cyrna's, and strangely enough, the eyes, which she swore had been glowing, were back to their normal crystal blue hue.

Daphne cleared her throat awkwardly, having realized that she had been silent for a while. "Well, maybe you're still exhausted from yesterday?"

Cyrna pursed her lips and let out an irritated sigh. "Perhaps," she said, her gaze taking on a faraway expression as she ran through the theories, calculations, and the formulas that she just read from the stack of Transfiguration books she had borrowed from the library.

 _There's no way I executed the wandwork incorrectly… my methods should have been perfect._ She flipped to a page filled with scrawls of calculations and reviewed them mentally. _Nope, nothing wrong here. I even adjusted the formula for the wandwork and incantation to accommodate my magical strength._

 _No… there is no way my theory is wrong…_

"I'm not wrong," Cyrna muttered quietly to herself.

Daphne warily regarded her.

 _What did I just see… were her eyes really glowing?—Merlin, did I even actually see anything?_ She frowned lightly in confusion.

She glanced at Cyrna who seemed to be waiting for her response.

 _I'll think about that later._

"Well, you've got to be doing _something_ wrong, otherwise you'd be able to transfigure the matchstick."

"And that," exclaimed Cyrna as she abruptly got up from her seat, grabbed the books, and made her out the common room, "is the issue."

Daphne hurried to catch up with her companion who was still muttering furiously to herself.

"I am not wrong _, but_ it's true that I can't transfigure the matchstick. She was able to perform it perfectly when I helped her—so my theory and method of approach _should_ be correct—"

"—I'll have you know, Cyrna," said Daphne with a slight frown as she followed Cyrna out the side entrance that led to the steep hill overlooking the Black Lake, "that I've always been good at Transfigurations."

 _The way Daphne's eyes had widened… the flash of surprise before her expression morphed into one of casual disinterest._

 _No_ , Cyrna thought with a hidden smile, _today was the first time Daphne transfigured it so perfectly_. _She's not dull, so she must know that her results today were due to my instructions. She could have let my statement go… she didn't have much to gain from defending her abilities… which means…_

 _… that she doesn't want me to know that I've helped her… and that to some extent, perhaps subconsciously, she has pride in her ability in Transfigurations._

"Of course," Cyrna said, "I didn't mean to imply anything like that—"

 _I'm not going to call her out on this until I have a better understanding of her reaction… perhaps I can use this information in the future for some sort of benefit._

"—what I mean is that since my instructions didn't seem to hinder your ability, perhaps the issue for me does actually lie in me myself."

A pause.

"Alright," Daphne answered.

Another pause.

Daphne looked around warily.

"So why are we heading to the hill?"

Cyrna's smile brightened.

"You aren't allowed to practice magic in the halls of Hogwarts—but here—" her eyes glittered with excitement as her hair whipped crazily in the wind. She gestured to the castle which was quite a distance away, "… I would like you to test some theories for me."


	13. Reaffirmations

**Chapter 13: Reaffirmations**

 _"I would like you to test some theories for me."_

"Theories?" Daphne asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes," Cyrna answered. Her eyes shifted to gaze at the still waters of the Black Lake. She seemed think for a while before she murmured quite softly, "there are two things which I suspect are hindering my abilities."

The sky was still a beautiful blue though tendrils of soft pink and yellow had begun to creep in, announcing the imminent arrival of the evening. The wind whistled peacefully around them, stirring the branches of the tall tree they stood under.

Daphne stood silently behind Cyrna who had wandered slightly further ahead, eyes focused on the waters below them. She thought back to what she had seen in the common room:

 _Cyrna was flipping through a few books while frantically jotting down notes when she had walked towards the study corner. She really hadn't thought much about it at that moment. After all, looking through textbooks was the norm when you were studying._

 _Then, she had seen those blue eyes. Those startling, uncanny, glowing blue eyes which had distracted her from hearing whatever Cyrna had been saying._

 _Once she had snapped out of her daze, she had chanced a glance at Cyrna's crowded desk before her companion had quickly gathered her books and notes and had basically ran out of the common room._

 _A Guide to Advanced Transfigurations… The Theory of Transfigurations…_

 _Those had been surprising to see on Cyrna desk. But what was even more surprising:_

 _Transfigurations: Discussing the Variables for the Formulaic Creation of Spells._

That book was something that Daphne remembered distinctly.

It was just two years prior, when looking through her mentor's tall stack of dusty books, that she had seen this book. Its beautiful leather binding lined sparingly with gold had called to her attention. She had flipped through it curiously and had attempted to decipher the meaning of the first passage for quite a while before she had given up and had ended up just looking through the diagrams and images. Then an hour or so later, her mentor had returned, had chuckled upon seeing her read the book, and had gently explained to her that this book was far too difficult for her young mind to understand.

He promised that he would teach this book to her if she passed her N.E.W.T.S with an O to prove to him that she was ready.

And Daphne, large blue eyes blinking solemnly, had sworn to do so.

 _How is it possible that Cyrna can understand that book's content?_ _Even now, I can't understand the concepts at all…_

Daphne heaved a sigh, causing Cyrna to turn around and look at her inquisitively.

 _If she can understand that text then she must truly be brilliant, not to mention that she's powerful too._

Daphne warily assessed her companion.

 _And Slytherins know better than to assume that name means everything. Your name can get you far—very far, but it is power alone that allows you to rise above the law. Take the Headmaster and the Flamels for example, they obey simply out of the goodness of their hearts; if they chose to disobey, who could stop them? Certainly not the ordinary wizards of the Wizengamot._

 _I've been viewing her as a tool that had the possibility to further the greatness of my household when I should have been viewing her as an ally of equal terms._

 _And the first step to show her my intentions…_

"You want me to help you prove or disprove one of the suspected causes."

Cyrna nodded before her mouth pursed into a slight frown as if she had just realized something. "I'll owe you a favour for this."

She had meant this as a statement, though it came out more as a question.

Daphne readily gave a slight shrug. "No need." She hesitated, before giving a small smile, "After all, we're _friends,_ aren't we? There's no need to play the _favour-for-a-favour_ game amongst friends—though if this complicates things, you could just take this as a payment for your help in class today," she finished nervously.

 _Friends._

Cyrna frowned slightly at that word.

 _Friends…_

 _…_

"… Of course."

Daphne exhaled a quiet breath of relief.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Cyrna comforted with a small grin when she saw her new friend's nervousness.

"Great," Daphne cleared her throat awkwardly, regaining her composure, "Let's get on with your little trials then, shall we?"

"Let's," Cyrna agreed before she strolled back to the tree where Daphne had been standing and retrieved a notebook and quill. She flipped the notebook open to the next blank page and carefully inked in " _Trial One: Control_ " as the heading.

"Control?" questioned Daphne who had leaned over to see what Cyrna was writing.

"Hm, yeah. For this one, we'll just have you perform the transfiguration spell on the match. Nothing new or special."

Cyrna gave the match to Daphne and watched as it unsurprisingly turned into a perfect needle. Cyrna jotted down the results before labelling the next page with, " _Trial Two: Wand."_

Daphne curiously watched as Cyrna wrote the next heading and wondered what " _wand"_ had meant until she watched in shock as Cyrna casually pulled out her wand and offered it to her.

Daphne stared at it blankly before she switched her gaze back to Cyrna's. She laughed nervously.

"You can't be serious!" Daphne exclaimed, eyes widening. _Dear Merlin, my friend must be mad._

Cyrna tilted her head in confusion until she remembered that it was only rarely a wizard or witch offered their wand for another to use. It was a part of you, usually only separated at death, and even then, some wands chose to die along with its masters.

One of the highest acts of trust and faith. That was what she had given Daphne.

Cyrna paled, not having meant this. Though, she supposed, while trying very hard not to jerk her wand away, this action would only benefit her relationship with Daphne. If nothing, it would at least guilt Daphne into reciprocating the action to some degree.

"Just take it and use it to transfigure the match using the same steps you did in the previous trial," Cyrna instructed calmly without betraying any of the regrets and nervousness she felt, "This is the second experiment."

Daphne assessed Cyrna one last time, and having seen no changes in her friend's intent, gave a short bark of nervous laughter before carefully plucking the offered wand from the outstretched hand and dutifully attempted to perform the transfiguration spell on the match.

The match rolled around and trembled before it began to narrow. She felt a greater draw on her magic, but no matter how much she gave, she was unable to transfigure the property of wood to metal.

"Hm, good enough," Cyrna muttered as she wrote down the results.

Daphne instantly let the spell go.

"That was harder, wasn't it?" Cyrna asked, glancing once at Daphne before resting her sight on her wand which was now grasped in someone else's hand. Her eyes lingered there for longer until Daphne spoke again.

"Yes," Daphne released a tired puff of air. "Much more tiring than if I had used my own—but that's normal. My father told me that some wands are more agreeable to various witches, and the one that chooses you at Ollivanders will allow you to perform to your fullest potential."

"True," agreed Cyrna, eyes nervously darting back to her wand, "and for the last trial, I'll instruct you on the precise steps that I want you to perform with my wand to transfigure the match. It will be slightly different from the wand motion that Professor McGonagall taught us in class… but it should work…"

Daphne watched quietly as Cyrna quickly scribbled out several calculations. She watched as she flipped open the book and scanned through several symbols before choosing one and writing it down on her notebook. ' _She's reformulating the hand motions to accommodate for the changes in using her wand.'_ Daphne thought with wonder.

Cyrna made of few more changes to the symbols—a larger curve, a more prominent slash—before she stretched, seemingly content with her work.

"Alright," Cyrna murmured. She reviewed the calculations she had made to adjust the compatibility between her wand and Daphne for this particular spell one last time before she handed the page to Daphne.

She took a step back and watched attentively.

* * *

 _Friends._

A weighted word that came with the connotations of faked gestures and caring words in her old world.

A role that was mentally tiring to her. To always be there for someone. To go out of your way to help this person. To support… to act as if you care when you really don't.

It was stressful. A necessary evil she had put up with in one of her attempts to learn sympathy and later, something she had kept in order to simply blend in with the rest of society.

Initially, she had been tempted to turn down the offer from Daphne, but even she was not delusional enough to think that she would be able to get through this world, or the next few years in Slytherin, unscathed by herself.

She tapped on her empty plate, signifying to whatever magic was in place, that she was finished her dinner and was ready for desserts. She watched dispassionately, lost in thought, as several slices of apples along with a small jar of chocolate sauce appeared.

 _'Besides,'_ she mused as she picked up a slice of apple to dip into the sauce, ' _what Daphne terms as 'friends' may not be the same as what my old world termed as 'friends.' To Slytherins perhaps friends is simply another word to call an ally… Perhaps no personal connection or care is required to give to the other party…_

"… I was so surprised that I was able to transfigure the match into a fairly decent needle with your wand," Daphne chattered on excitedly during dinner.

 _Her company also isn't bad…_

"Mm, yeah," replied Cyrna distractedly. _Hopefully I made the right decision regarding her… but as for my wand…_

 _That feeling when she had given Daphne her wand…_ Cyrna shivered… _it had felt so wrong. No wonder it's a rare occurrence to part with your wand. 'No,'_ she thought, subtly tightening her grip on her wand, ' _I'm not doing that again.'_

She continued to make her way slowly through her dessert. _'So it's not an issue with my wand…'_

"Say, Daphne, what core is your wand made of?"

Daphne paused in her monologue to scrunch her eyebrows. She seemed to think for a while before saying, "If I remember correctly, I believe it was a dragon heartstring. It's been a long time since I've received my wand though, so I'm not perfectly certain about my answer." She shrugged. "Why? What's yours?"

 _'As predicted. That wand core, if I remember correctly is powerful and can easily change loyalties or turn to the dark—highly similar to the Thestral core in its instability, thus, a user of dragon heartstring will have a better result with my wand than say a user of unicorn tail hair.'_

"Thestral tail hair," Cyrna replied.

 _'My understanding of the concepts and my calculations were right…'_

"Hm, interesting—oh, but Cyrna, did you _see_ the shudder before the wooden brown colour of the match faded so easily to the metallic silver of the needle? Then one of the ends started to thin into a tip—it might not have been terribly sharp, and there might have been a few rough parts on the body of the needle; but dear Merlin, it was damn close to perfection— _and_ I achieved this result with not my own wand but someone else's! I've never realized that…"

Cyrna watched with amusement and slight bit of disbelief as Daphne went right back into continuing her monologue, gushing about the little experiment she had performed, as if Cyrna had never asked a question.

"Unexpected, right?"

Darting a glance to her right, she nearly dropped her glass of water when she saw the expression in Theodore's eyes when he gazed at Daphne.

 _Is that—_

"She gets like this once it's about transfigurations," he smirked, meeting Cyrna's surprised gaze steadily. Whatever expression Cyrna thought she had seen was once again replaced by the usual cold, distant eyes that gave nothing away. "A bit annoying the way she'll prattle," he yawned, averting his gaze as he picked at his cake, "but this is one of the only moments that she'll drop the heiress attitude and simply be Daphne."

Cyrna watched as Theodore seemed to lose interest as sudden as when he had initiated the conversation. "I see," she said slowly, chewing on her piece of chocolate-covered apple. Together, at the end of the Slytherin table, they both sat in silence, watching as Daphne's eyes lit up in rarely seen childish excitement as she chattered on endlessly, each distracted by different thoughts.

 _'Neither my theory, my calculations, nor my wand are the issue…'_

 _'That leaves…'_

* * *

 _'That leaves the caster.'_

 _'Me.'_

She lay down, restlessly shifting positions as she tossed and turned in her attempts to sleep. The darkness enveloped her, and silence reigned if not for the quiet sounds of steady breathing from the beds beside her and the quiet gurgle of the lake-water outside the window of their dormitory.

The warm ball of fur snuggled deeper into her side at the strange sound of a creature, probably a grindylow, rapping on the glass windows. Without much thought, the girl reached out her hand to soothe her cat and once again, shifted positions so that she was now facing upwards, gazing blankly at the blackness that filled the room.

The quiet drips of water in the dungeons and the strange sounds that could at times be heard outside the window had kept her awake. She had always been a light sleeper, but every time sleep seemed to finally have overwhelmed her tired mind, a sudden _drip_ would just wake her right back up. It was frustrating for her to say the least.

A side of her, the part of her that had prided herself in her intellect, had been pleased with the results from the experiment, but the other side of her, which now knew the results, was simply stressed. For the issue to be _her_. If it had been a problem with the wand or her calculations, it would have been easily fixable. But since the issue was herself, she really had no idea what to do about it now.

She was sure she was performing the actions right—she even had Professor McGonagall check it for her once the lessons had ended. Still, nothing—not even a shiver in the match, had happened.

Cyrna sighed, ashamed and frustrated of her inability to perform such a simple spell.

She rolled around restlessly for a few more moments as she tried to sleep. She forced her mind to think of something else as she shoved the whole Transfiguration issue in a box in her mind and shut the lid with a snap, promising to herself that she would figure this out later.

Still, perhaps due to the strange noises in the dungeons that she had yet to become accustomed to, she could not sleep. Bored and restless, her mind wandered aimlessly, shifting and grabbing at random memories that she had tucked away neatly during the day.

 _'Really,'_ she thought as she cast a downward gaze to the approximate area of where Prince was resting, _'why were you bothering Professor Snape?... ugh…'_ Cyrna closed her eyes in shame and covered her face with her arm. ' _Remind me as to why I thought it was a good idea to name him after the one Professor in Hogwarts who is most prone to suspicion.'_

 _'Because you thought that the cat reminded you of him,'_ said the logical part of her mind.

She thought back to her first few moments with Prince. _'But he did remind me of him.'_ A smile crept onto her face when she thought of his, overall, arrogant along with the prickly and almost violent attitude he had to strangers—especially to Pansy when she had been making awful cooing noises before she had confidently attempted to carelessly pick him up. _'He still reminds me of him.'_

 _'Well, You knew this would have happened eventually. It's not like this encounter was unexpected.'_

 _'Yes… but still…'_ The black fathomless eyes had been tinged with suspicion as they had studied her. They had looked upon her coldly, seeing her as insignificant before they had turned away to direct its gaze at her cat.

Despite what she knew about Severus Snape from the books, seeing one of her favourite characters, one whose story that had dug a little place into her heart, look at her as if she was nothing— _as if she wasn't special_ , had hurt, more than she would like to admit.

' _But you aren't special,'_ her voice echoed in her mind.

 _'I know…'_ she thought wistfully, _'but somehow, I guess I had wished to be seen differently in front of him.'_

 _'But isn't it better that he disregards you? Isn't that your aim, Cyrna? To attract as little attention as possible?'_

Cyrna released a quiet sigh into the night.

His undying love and devotion to Lily Evans to the point where he had ironically dedicated the rest of his life to a child whose father had earned the sort of hatred that not even the man's death had lessened.

Blindingly vicious consuming hatred. Blindingly loyal consuming love.

It was a wonder to Cyrna that the man could even function normally whenever he saw Harry Potter. When she had finished reading his story, she was struck with curiosity as to how a man who could hate like none other could care for another so deeply. With this in mind, she had slowly over a couple of years became engrossed in his character… a bond between a man and a woman that not even death could part…

 _The complete opposite of what I am._

To have a character who had countless of times been occupying her ponderings, only to have him look at her as if he could not be bothered to spare a single thought of her. It was not fair. It was humiliating. And it had hurt.

 _'He doesn't owe you anything. In this world, he is not simply a thing for you to think about when you're bored, and tuck away into your mind once you're done. He's human, no longer a figment of your imagination,_ ' her rationale scolded, _'you don't own any part of him in this world, and he certainly doesn't owe you his thoughts.'_

…

 _'… I know, but that doesn't make it less humiliating or painful.'_

Cyrna turned sideways and detached herself away from Prince whose claws had been poking her as he had snuggled in.

 _'You'll get over it soon,'_ her rationale soothed, just as it had always done for her in the past, _'You're just feeling a slight bit off because you're experiencing the transition of your favourite character becoming a real human being.'_

The dripping stopped, and the grindylow which had been swimming around in the night-waters seemed to have finally gone away. Cyrna's breath evened out as sleep pulled at her consciousness.

 _'It's better this way. Don't try to attract his attention. Unlike Harry Potter, he is an integral key player of the storyline that is highly, highly intelligent—he might be able to figure your secret, then where would you be?'_

 _…_

 _'Drawn into the war,'_ she answered her rationale.

 _…_

 _'Is forming some sort of relationship with this character worth the increased risk of your involvement?'_

 _…_

 _'no.'_

 _'Why?'_

Cyrna shifted, turning away from Prince as she snuggled into her pillow. Fatigue finally winning, her breathing deepened and she fell, finally, into a restful sleep.

 _'Because there is nothing more important to me than my life.'_


	14. Potions

**Chapter 14** : **Potions**

"And that was how father got me my owl," Draco bragged, entertaining the group of Slytherins who huddled around him. As if on cue, a large eagle-owl with sleek feathers regally glided into the Great Hall, drawing soft dreamy sighs of appreciation from Pansy and Millicent who clung to Draco's arms. Draco smirked, satisfied, as he gave a sharp whistle ordering the owl to drop the package in front of him.

"Oh, it's from my mother again," he said lazily.

He opened the package, revealing a generous variety of expensive sweets which he carelessly handed out with a superior smirk to the students around him.

Daphne rolled her eyes at the murmured thank-you's from the Slytherins and the compliments and praises Pansy and Millicent showered on Malfoy.

"Makes you wonder what they would do if Malfoy suddenly up and left Hogwarts," she said dryly.

Cyrna smiled amusedly at the thought when a sudden motion in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. She turned to see a figure wave tentatively at her from across the hall at the Gryffindor table.

Her eyes brightened pleasantly, and she energetically waved back. It had been a while since she had last had time to meet up with Harry, and truth be told, her mind had mostly been occupied with navigating the nuances of interacting with Slytherins and with wallowing in her inability in Transfigurations.

Harry seemed to think for a while before he exchanged a glance with Ron and pointed towards the doors of the Great Hall.

Cyrna cast a quick glance to the door before she turned back to look for Harry, who was now pocketing some food and heading towards the exit with Ron.

"Are you going?" Daphne questioned in a quiet voice as Cyrna hurried to stuff the last bits of her breakfast into her mouth.

Cyrna casually picked up her bag. "Well," she began slowly, meeting Daphne's gaze with a faint spark of mischievousness in her eyes, "what sort of Slytherin would I be if I passed up a chance to be… _friends_ with the boy-who-lived?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes in skepticism.

"—not a very intelligent one I'd say," Cyrna answered her own question with a smirk as she hefted her bag onto her shoulders. "I'll see you in Potions."

Cyrna had just taken a couple step towards the exit when she felt something similar to an invisible rope pull lightly on her arm. She stumbled back a step and turned around to see Theodore sipping his cup of tea without a care in the world.

"I would rethink this," Theodore drawled when he felt her eyes on him. "Fame only holds so much power." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, "Potter's fame… it'll surely dissipate soon once the Wizarding World is bored with him. It's a terribly fickle thing to risk your standing in Slytherin on."

Cyrna was silent for a while, thinking of what was to come according to the books. Potter not being in the center of attention?

Cyrna lips twitched slightly in amusement. "You might be surprised," she responded dryly.

Theodore shrugged indifferently.

"Well don't say I haven't warned you. The other Slytherins may tolerate you for your power, but Potter's existence is a representation of not just what we lost in the first war, but also of our failure." Theodore's gaze turned cold, and despite his attempts to hide it, faint tones of bitterness coated his words, "We will _never_ reconcile with him."

Cyrna studied him, not missing the change of emotion that had seeped out accidentally. She pursed her lips in silent contemplation before she arched her eyebrow.

"I'll keep that in mind," Cyrna said with a quick smirk.

Daphne and Theodore exchanged a glance as they watched Cyrna calmly walk towards the Gryffindors without a second thought. The clanks of forks and knives on the plates filled the silence that Cyrna had left in her exit.

"You still think she'll benefit you as a friend?" Theodore leaned over and whispered to Daphne.

Daphne's gaze lingered on Cyrna for a moment longer, catching a glimpse of Cyrna playfully ruffling Potter's hair just before the tall oaken doors of the Great Hall swung shut.

"I don't think she's serious about pursuing any sort of friendship with Potter," Daphne answered with a small smile, "Cyrna's just playing a game."

Theodore's eyebrow rose in surprise at her response though he made no effort to comment any further.

* * *

If Harry thought that the whispers and stares which had followed him before had been bad, he realized that it was a lot worse today. His morning had started off with the usual uncomfortable amount of stares, but all in all, he had woken up excited for class. Potions was something that sounded similar to muggle science and cooking—two things that he at least had a bit of knowledge on when compared to the other classes in Hogwarts.

Then, when he had gone down for breakfast, he had noticed that his first friend was, for once, not frantically scribbling away on a notebook or talking to the brunette girl that he had met in the bookshop. Perhaps, he would finally be able to meet with her today.

With that thought in mind, he had waved to her, once he was sure he had caught her attention, and then, he had practically dragged Ron over to the exit.

"I wasn't finished my breakfast," Ron groaned in dejection as he gazed longingly at the Great Hall.

Harry gave a small smile at the statement.

"I wonder how Cyrna has been for the last four days," he said thoughtfully. Harry knew that his week had been crazy.

Ron shrugged. "Honestly mate, I've got no clue. But she should be—"

"Well enough," said a familiar voice with a teasing lilt, "what about you two? How were your weeks?"

And with that, Harry felt his hair being ruffled affectionately.

Harry startled at this action, having never experienced it before. He couldn't help the smile that formed as he turned around to see his friend; his ears turning a touch of red when he realized that he hadn't heard her arriving until she had spoken.

"Hello, Cyrna" he replied shyly.

"Hullo," Ron chimed in. He took in her green-accented robes. "How's it been in Slytherin?" he asked cautiously.

"It's been interesting," she replied lightly. "Definitely not as bad as I expected it to be, though I do see why you would think that Malfoy is a bit of a prick."

Ron snorted in amusement. His expression becoming more open at her words. "He's the worst," Ron agreed with a smile, "and if Malfoy ever gets too much, just let us know."

Cyrna quirked an eyebrow slightly at that statement. "If I were to do that, I would rarely be able to leave your company."

Ron and Harry shared a glance and snickered quietly.

* * *

They had been talking about all sorts of things—from Harry complaining about the difficulties of using a quill and parchment to Ron complaining about how Quidditch wouldn't start until next week—when Harry noticed the strange stares and the frantic whisperings coming from the students they had passed by in the corridor. Some even stopped walking to stand and look at them.

All of this made Harry very uncomfortable.

"Hey," he whispered sharply, effectively cutting off Cyrna from her complaints about the poor teaching of the DADA professor and the terrible scheduling for the astronomy lessons, "is it just me or are the other students staring more than normal?"

They walked a couple more paces, winding into a darkly lit stairwell, when Ron took a look around.

"They might be staring more than normal?" said Ron.

Cyrna smirked, "they're probably worried that I'll kidnap their boy-who-lived and hide him in the dark, dark dungeons when no one is watching."

Harry laughed nervously while Ron just stared at her with wide eyes.

"I know you've complained a lot, but how are you enjoying Hogwarts so far, Harry?" Cyrna asked, switching the topic, as she walked down the winding staircase. The portraits hanging on the stone walls seemed to stare at them as they passed, some even breaking into fierce whispers.

Harry shrugged. "I like being in Hogwarts."

"Any classes you're enjoying?" she prompted.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, maybe? I mean, the professor's kind of strange, but the subject itself seems fun." He looked curiously at Cyrna. "Which one do you like?"

"I would say Transfigurations, but I can't seem to transfigure the match," Cyrna laughed.

Ron gulped audibly as he took in the darkening surroundings and the quiet drips that he had not noticed before. "Mate," he muttered urgently to Harry, "we're in the dungeons."

Harry took a quick look around. They had been mindlessly following Cyrna as she had chattered on, so he really had no idea where they were.

"It looks like it," he replied, not knowing what Ron was hinting at.

"She said that she was going to kidnap you and hide you in the dungeons," he whispered, "remember?"

Harry gazed at Ron, perplexed. "She was joking, Ron," he said though he couldn't help the nervous edge that crept into his voice. The dungeons _were_ scary. "She's our friend, and—"

"—and a Slytherin now," Ron finished with a hushed voice, looking ready to bolt.

Harry frowned. "You didn't seem to think she was all that bad a while ago."

"That was before I noticed that we were in the dungeons."

They continued to walk onwards. Harry tried to focus on what Cyrna was saying, attempting to ignore the prickling fear, planted in his mind from Ron's word, which had grown when Cyrna took a turn into an even darker corridor with even fewer students around.

Harry laughed nervously. He turned around to look at Ron who seemed to have taken an unhealthy white pallor.

"She was joking, right?" Harry whispered, more to confirm his own belief than to set an inquiry.

"I-I hope so," Ron stammered quietly in reply.

"You don't have to follow us…" Harry trailed off. He didn't want to leave Cyrna, yet, he also had half a mind to run back up and out of the dungeons.

Ron looked startled at his comment.

"There's no way I'd leave you alone with a Slytherin in the dungeons," Ron replied shakily, his wand wrapped in a deathly white grip.

Harry blinked, surprised by the underlying conviction he heard in his friend's voice.

"Well," Harry began to whisper back, "we could—"

"—you know, Harry, Ron," an amused voice interrupted, "that you should probably work on your volume when you whisper?"

Harry and Ron spun towards Cyrna who was watching them with a smile that lit her eyes up with genuine mirth.

They hadn't noticed that she had stopped walking, nor that she was watching them a few paces away as she leaned against the rugged stone wall just beside a wooden door.

"Perhaps it would do you well to be more aware of your surroundings if you were actually kidnapped?" Cyrna continued, eyes twinkling.

Harry smiled sheepishly in response while Ron turned around looking gobsmacked.

"Y-you heard what we said?" he stammered guiltily, the tips of his ears flushing bright red.

Cyrna chuckled, "every single word."

She watched him blanch. His face turning even paler though his grip on his wand loosened.

Harry fidgeted nervously.

"I was just joking," she said lightly, deciding to stop their torment.

"But we're in the dungeons?" Ron asked, confused.

Cyrna stared at him for a couple more seconds. Each second seemed to last for ages until her mind fully caught up with his question. She felt another grin tug at her lips.

"Do you really not know why we're in the dungeons?" Cyrna asked.

The boys' eyebrows scrunched up in confusion before they shook their heads in unison a few seconds later.

Her grin widened despite her attempts to remain indifferent.

"Well," Cyrna said, looking towards the arched door beside her, "please tell me you didn't forget that you had a double-period Potions with my house this morning?"

The expression on the boys' face told her that was exactly what had happened.

They stared at her for a moment before they all broke into quiet snickers.

"At least I didn't know we had potions in the dungeons," Harry said, suppressing another bout of snickers, "I genuinely had no idea why I was down here."

"Well, I…" Ron paused. "I guess the thought that we had class in the dungeons today just slipped my mind," he grinned sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Aren't you glad I decided to meet up with the two of you after breakfast today?" Cyrna teased.

"Yeah, I would have been lost on my way down here," said Harry.

Harry and Ron shared another glance, coming to some sort of agreement.

"Say," Harry said hesitantly, "why don't we meet up some time every day?"

Cyrna cocked her head and glanced at Ron who fidgeted under her scrutiny but gazed steadily back at her. ' _That's surprising. I thought he'd be much more resistant to the idea.'_

"I would love to," Cyrna said with a slight smile on her lips as she leaned against the cold stone walls of the dungeons, "but our schedules are pretty different. We don't share any classes except for Flying and Potions, and unless you want to meet in the library and study with me once my lessons end—"

Harry and Ron shivered.

"—I don't see how we could meet that often."

"Well," Harry began with a bit of reluctance, "I guess we could meet in the library and study together—"

"—or," Ron interjected hurriedly, "we could just meet up on days when you're not busy studying? Yeah?" he asked hopefully.

Cyrna was just about to answer when she heard the sound of students loudly chattering and laughing down the hallway.

 _Definitely not Slytherins_. They just wouldn't dare to be so loud in front of their Head of House's classroom, knowing that he hated any sort of noise.

"Oh, and there's the rest of our house!" Ron exclaimed when he saw the familiar red on black robes circle the corner.

Cyrna watched as Ron perked up and hollered a greeting at his house members.

"Hey, where _were_ you guys? We've been looking for you ever since you decided to leave breakfast early," said a familiar sniffy voice.

Ron met Harry's gaze and rolled his eyes. "We met up with a friend and headed to class early."

"A friend? But all the other Gryffindors came down with me just now," Hermione said, puzzled.

Cyrna sighed and prayed that her house members would appear soon before she stepped out from behind Harry and into the brighter area of the corridor.

"Hello, Hermione. Neville," she greeted, ignoring the exclamations of surprise from the other Gryffindors when they noticed the colour of her robes.

"Oh, hey Cyrna," Hermione returned, effortlessly recalling the name among the dozens that she had memorized on the Hogwarts Express.

"Hello," said a soft voice shyly from the back of the group.

Strange glances where passed between the group of Gryffindors that had just came down. A tall boy with sandy-coloured hair frowned, displeased or confused, Cyrna really couldn't tell.

"Ron, Harry, what in the bloody hell are you guys doing here in the dungeons with a snake?" he hollered.

Ron's expression fell as he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

Harry frowned, confused at the aggression displayed towards his friend from his house members. He opened his mouth to reply when—

"Because unfortunately for us," sneered a voice, "we're stuck in the same class as you Gryffindors for the next two hours."

Ron bristled at hearing the voice. "Malfoy," he spat out in disgust.

From the other end of the corridor, Malfoy led the group of Slytherins to the entrance of the Potions classroom, stopping just behind Cyrna.

Tension built in the air as both sides remained silent, glaring at each other.

"And this is why I told you it was a bad idea to meet with Potter," muttered Theodore quietly from behind her.

Cyrna shifted uncomfortably but held her place beside Harry and Ron.

Malfoy curled his lip unpleasantly and was about to bite back a response to Ron when the door the Potions classroom swung open with a loud bang, startling most if not all of the first-year students waiting outside the door.

Everyone waited apprehensively for something to emerge from the dimly lit classroom, but nothing besides the soft, quiet sounds of what Cyrna recognized to be bubbling cauldrons could be heard. Casting a silent ' _tempus,_ ' she noted that there were still five minutes before class.

' _I guess Snape wants us to get seated first before he comes in,_ ' Cyrna thought nervously as she headed into the classroom.

Hearing a set of footsteps shuffling behind and soon beside her, she glanced at Hermione whose eyes seemed to convey the same thought and nervousness that she felt. She offered a polite smile of greeting which Hermione returned with a genuine smile.

"Are those eyes?" Hermione whispered once they had shuffled near the front of the dark classroom. Wide-eyed, Hermione stared at the eyeballs suspended in fluid inside a jar that was set strategically so that the flickering candlelight would always shine on it. Seeming to notice that it had spectators, the eyes twitched in the fluid and spun around to stare straight at her.

Hermione yelped in surprise, and scuttled back, bumping into the edge of a desk.

"Well this place was certainly set up to intimidate," muttered Cyrna dryly. She glanced at Hermione who was clutching her side lightly and gaping at the suspended eyeball. "Are you okay?"

Hermione cleared her throat and nervously patted down her robes. She took a seat in front of the desk she bumped into so that she was now sitting in the front row of the class.

"I'm fine," she said with an awkward smile, "thanks for asking."

The rest of their houses soon filtered in slowly through the door, seeing as nothing too terrible had happened to their housemates. The Slytherins automatically grouped together on the left side with the Gryffindors favouring the right.

Harry gave her a quick wave before settling in the middle row with Ron.

Cyrna nodded politely to Hermione before she glanced to the back of the classroom with full intentions of choosing a seat that wouldn't draw too much attention to herself. She spotted Daphne who shot her an apologetic glance from beside Theodore. The back seats in the Slytherin side of the classroom had been quickly filled by some other Slytherins that she had yet to meet, and soon, she noticed that practically all the rows in the Potions classroom had been filled except for some seats in the front row.

Having heard the reputation of the Potions Master, it was unsurprising that few would want to sit in the front.

Contemplating her options, she decided that she would much rather face the backlash of sitting with a Gryffindor than having to endure the torture of sitting beside Pansy who, along with Millicent, was currently fawning over Malfoy who sat between them.

Heaving a silent sigh, she circled Hermione's desk and plopped herself down on the seat to the left of the Gryffindor.

Cyrna quickly took out her parchment, quill, and inkbottle. Once everything was laid out in an orderly fashion, she took out her textbook and quickly started scanning through the first chapter for the fifth time, making sure she remembered everything.

She was reading a particularly interesting excerpt of the reaction that would occur if you added the porcupine quills before the solution had enough time to cool down when she felt the prickling sensation of eyes on her.

She glanced from her book with a frown, and she looked around, meeting Hermione's curious gaze.

Cyrna arched a brow in question.

"Why are you sitting here?" asked Hermione. She flushed slightly pink when she realized how she sounded. "Not that I don't want you to," she stammered slightly, "but there's still a seat on the Slytherin side of the room, and according to _Hogwarts: A History_ , Slytherins and Gryffindors usually don't spend any time together more than necessary."

Cyrna smiled slightly. "You can ask me that question again once you've experienced the horror of sitting around girls who won't stop squealing over everything Malfoy does."

Hermione glanced curiously at the boy in mention. She gave a nod of understanding before she rummaged through her own bag to pull out her supplies.

Cyrna jotted down the date on the top right corner of the parchment and waited patiently for the minute hand of the clock to reach the 12.

* * *

The second hand was now a second from reaching a full cycle, and just as it hit 9:00, the heavy doors of the Potions classroom flew open, and a shadowed figure with black robes billowing and snapping around his heels stormed into the classroom.

The chattering in the class fell into dead silence.

With a wave of his wand, the doors slammed shut once again and the candles around the classroom flared into full brightness.

He strode without hesitance to the front of the class and glared at the class before he flicked open a scroll and began taking the register.

Cyrna took a moment to study the Professor who would be teaching her. It felt surreal to be sitting in this class—the deep baritone voice spoken just above a whisper, the way he managed to drip distain on each name he read yet still read them indifferently…

To think that this man would be dead in a few years…

Cyrna shifted her gaze away.

She rubbed the invisible minuscule vial which had hung around her neck ever since Nicolas had charmed it into a Portkey that would bring her back to the Flamel mansion. The blood-red liquid throbbed comfortingly as if it had a pulse of its own.

"… Harry Potter—our new _celebrity_."

Cyrna heard snickering from her left.

Snape fixed a cold glare at Potter before he continued down the list.

"Cyrna Raine," he droned without inflection.

Cyrna let go of the vial and quickly raised her hand, drawing the Professor's gaze towards her. She met the black empty eyes again, but this time, the eyes shifted to her right before returning to hers with an arch of a brow.

 _Does he not want me to associate with Gryffindors?_ Cyrna wondered as she glanced at Hermione.

* * *

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. As there is little wand-waving or silly incantations in this class, I do not expect many of you to understand the magic of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes."

Cyrna held her breath as Snape glanced around steadily with an unimpressed expression at the class who, like her, remained in tense silence.

"However," he continued softly, "for those select few that possess the… predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses… I can even teach you how to bottle fame," he breathed out in a hushed tone, "brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—"

The class held its breath, enraptured.

"—if only you weren't the usual dunderheads that I have to teach."

With that, the spell seemed to break and the class blinked as if out of a daze. Silence followed the speech and Cyrna watched as Hermione strained on the edge of her seat, looking desperate to start proving herself.

"Potter!" Snape barked suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Cyrna glanced at Potter who stared back at her in a panic. She gave an apologetic shrug, indicating that she didn't know the answer before she turned back to stare at Snape.

It was happening exactly like how it happened in the books. Hermione's hand had flown up immediately, while Potter could only respond with "I don't know."

Cyrna watched as Snape sneered and made petty comments on Potter's lack of studying. She watched as irritation continued to build up in Harry's eyes, and she sighed as the Gryffindor part of him flared up.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly, trying to control his temper, "but I think Hermione does. Why don't you try her?"

A few people in the class laughed.

Whatever she thought she knew about the bitterness that had existed in Severus Snape was erased to be replaced with something much more intense when she saw the cold anger that seeped into his eyes and the absolute disgust he had when he stared down at his student.

Her pulse thundered. If she hadn't known which side he had fought in from the books, she would never have believed that he was on the side of the Light. He seemed as if he would be much happier seeing Potter dead.

Snape's eyes shot towards Hermione, pinning her down with a glare.

Hermione's hand faltered uncertainly in the air.

"Put your hand down," he snapped at her.

Her hand shot down immediately.

"For your information, Potter," he spat, glaring at Potter who glared straight back, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite… Well?" he hissed, turning his dark glare to the rest of the class, "Why aren't you all copying it down?"

Everyone frantically rummaged for their quills and parchment.

"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter," Snape said in a deathly soft voice. With that, he turned sharply around and swept to the front of the room and began the lecture. "Page 4, the cure of boils…"

* * *

The rest of the lecture continued on uneventfully. The class was silent the entire time, with only the sound of Snape's voice and the scratching sound of chalk on the chalkboard.

Once the first hour-and-a-half was up, Snape paired them up with the person they were sitting beside to make a simple potion to cure boils. Cyrna glanced at Hermione who seemed to be dying to take the lead.

 _Well why not?_

"I'm not too comfortable with the practical part of Potions," Cyrna laughed sheepishly, fiddling with her quill, "and I'm certain you know what you're doing."

Hermione blinked at her in surprise, a smile gradually working her way onto her face at the compliment. "Oh. Well in that case, how about you do the ingredient preparations, and I'll handle the cauldron?" she asked eagerly.

Cyrna' smile brightened, "sounds like a plan!"

Cyrna went along with the other students to grab their ingredients from the shelves.

 _Really_ , _after spending all that time under Nicolas in potions, I can't help but see potions as an art. Each stir of the cauldron, a stroke of the paint brush. And with each step of the potion, with each ingredient added, the painting starts to take form._

Cyrna arrived at the table with the ingredients and set to preparing them. She crushed the six snake fangs and separated it into four equal measures, then she made four light slices on the surface of each slug. There wasn't much to do, after all, it _was_ a simple, if not the simplest, potion to make. As long as you followed the instructions, you were bound to make a good cure for boils. But for it to be truly perfect… Cyrna thought back to her time at the Flamel Estate as she watched Hermione drop an entire measure of crushed snake fangs into the cauldron.

Immediately, the solution in the cauldron went from colourless to a murky light green. After three more measures were dropped, the solution was now a beautiful emerald colour.

 _The final touch of the potion; your final work when you see the beauty of the simmering liquid bubbling quietly… the satisfaction and pride that comes to you when you stand back and behold your finished painting is unparallel to almost all other sorts of magic._

It was the ideal colour for the potions at this stage, however—Cyrna peered over the cauldron—because Hermione had added each of the entire measure in one go, the solution was a slight bit too viscous for perfection; the consistency though not noticeable to most, was lacking in some areas. Some areas of the potion were too dense, others having an almost transparent quality to it.

 _If I were to brew the potion, there's no way I'd be able to sabotage my own work to make it look average. It's like grabbing a completely repulsive colour and slathering it all over a beautiful painting._

 _It's unthinkable._

Hermione was now giving the last stir to the cauldron.

 _Too harsh; too abrupt_ , Cyrna thought listlessly as she waved her wand to help decant the potion.

"Good work, Hermione!" she praised.

The potion _was_ good. Good enough for it to receive Outstanding for this course anyways, judging from the way the Professor had not said anything when he had periodically checked on their progress.

"Thanks," Hermione murmured with a smile.

Cyrna looked around for the Professor and found him by Malfoy's station, complimenting Malfoy's stewed slug when a sudden hiss and green fumes began to fill the air in the classroom.

 _Ah. Right. Neville's cauldron_.

Cyrna, who had been standing in the decanting process quickly hopped onto her stool and sat down with her feet tucked carefully away from the ground. Hermione gave her a curious stare before she sat down on her stool too, her legs dangling from the ground.

Cyrna gave an innocent shrug just as a loud bang was heard from the right side of the classroom. She glanced at Neville who was now drenched in his potion and was moaning in pain as boils sprang up on his skin. The potion from their cauldron soon slowly seeped across the dungeon's floor, burning anything it came in contact with.

The nearest students to Neville and Seamus yelped in surprise when the potions began melting their shoe, and everyone quickly scrambled onto their chair.

"Idiot boy," Snape snarled as he stalked over to the destroyed cauldron, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills to the cauldron before taking it off the fire?"

Cyrna watched in surprise when the potions seemed to simply slide off the Professor's shoes and robes.

 _Of course. Protective charms._

Neville whimpered in pain as red, painful, boils began popping up and spreading all over his body.

With a quick flick of his wand, Snape cleared the mess and banished the destroyed fragments of the cauldron.

"Hey."

Cyrna felt a tug after the whisper, and she turned to Hermione.

"Did you know that was going to happen?"

Cyrna stared at Hermione for a moment. Hermione was much too intelligent to believe it if she said, 'no.'

"Yep," Cyrna said in a casual manner, "I did."

"How did you know?" she whispered, curiousity brightening her eyes.

"Did you read that little excerpt from the textbook about what would happen if you accidentally added in the quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

"I did, but it didn't say that the cauldron would explode. All it described was the hissing sound and the green fumes that would be released."

Cyrna shrugged carefully, "I just thought that if the hissing was caused by the release of gas from an area of high pressure to low pressure, the gas, pushing outwards, might also cause the cauldron to explode?"

Hermione blinked a couple of times. "That's muggle science!" she exclaimed excitedly.

Cyrna quirked a smile. "I'm a half-blood, so I do know a bit about the other part of the world."

Hermione smiled, and together, they watched as the Professor dismissed Seamus to help Neville up to the hospital wing. Then, they watched Snape tell Harry off for not helping Neville with his potion.

"Your Head of House…" Hermione trailed off, not wanting to remark to harshly on someone with authority.

"He's rather unfair to Gryffindors," Cyrna conceded.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully.

"Do you think that maybe he didn't criticize our potion when he walked by was because I was working with you, a Slytherin?"

"Possibly," Cyrna said slowly, not having thought of this reason, "I just thought he hadn't complained because there was nothing to complain about."

Cyrna stole a glance at Malfoy's and Daphne's potions. They weren't bad; however, Daphne had stewed her slug a tad bit overtime, and Malfoy seemed to have dumped each measure of grounded fangs in the cauldron too quickly.

Hermione had followed the recipe perfectly.

* * *

Snape called for order, and soon enough, every student was back to working quietly.

Having finished their potion, Cyrna and Hermione grabbed their potion and walked up to the front to show Snape their completed work.

The professor was scribbling something down on a piece of parchment when they walked up. Snape glanced at them irritably when they showed no signs of leaving.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"Sir, we finished our potions," Cyrna replied when Hermione remained quiet.

The professor concealed his surprise at this. _Hadn't it only been thirty-five minutes?_ _Thirty minutes was the time needed to make the potion following the recipe in the book perfectly; a time that didn't include ingredient identification and preparation._

Indifferently, he impatiently tapped his desk with his quill twice.

 _Oh._

Cyrna placed her potions on the desk and nudged Hermione forward to do the same.

Picking up one of the bottled potions, Snape gave it a quick glance. It was brewed as perfectly as one could expect from following the recipe. In fact, he reluctantly decided that it was one of the best he had seen from a first-year. He glanced around the classroom, and none of the other students seemed to be close to finishing their potions.

"Who brewed this?" he asked coldly.

Cyrna shared a glance with Hermione.

"Hermione, sir," said Cyrna the same time Hermione said, "the both of us."

Professor Snape arched a brow, unimpressed.

Hermione cleared her throat nervously, "Sir, I wouldn't have been able to brew it as efficiently if Cyrna had not prepared all the ingredients just as I needed them."

Professor Snape switched his gaze from the Gryffindor and settled it back on his Slytherin thoughtfully. He hadn't had any time to note their individual work when he had been passing through the class. Seeing that nothing seemed to be on the verge of exploding in their cauldron, he had simply passed them by without nitpicking on anything seeing that one of his Slytherins was in the group.

He looked at his Slytherin and looked back at the potion.

"Outstanding," he said evenly as he marked an "O" beside Ms. Raine's name.

He glanced at the Gryffindor who had partnered up with his Slytherin and sighed.

"For both of you," he gritted out reluctantly, knowing that he had no valid reason to mark them differently. With another sigh, he marked an "O" next to the Gryffindor as well.

Hermione grinned proudly at Cyrna who returned her smile politely.

"You're dismissed," drawled the Professor, returning to his work.

* * *

Cyrna and Hermione quickly gathered their supplies and cleaned their workstation. With a wave to Daphne and a whispered "good luck" to a desolate looking Harry Potter, she and Hermione exited the Potions classroom with forty-five minutes left to spare.

"Where are you going to go now?" Hermione asked curiously as they walked up the stairwell and through several corridors.

"The library, probably," Cyrna admitted.

"Oh!" Hermione's eyes brightened, "Do you want to study together?" she asked somewhat shyly, face flushing a pale pink.

"Sure," Cyrna agreed with an easy smile.

Once at the library, Cyrna quietly took out her charms essay to work on, and Hermione seemed to be studying for the upcoming Transfigurations quiz.

Madame Pince had given them a stern glare when they had entered before she continued patrolling the other aisles of the library.

"Say," Hermione suddenly said after thirty-minutes of silent studying, "If you knew that the cauldron was going to explode, why didn't you let everybody else know?"

The question was asked innocently out of simple curiousity.

Perhaps that was what threw Cyrna off. The trust in the eyes that gazed steadily at her; a trust that she had done what she did because she believed her actions would help the class.

Cyrna blinked slowly in confusion as she ran the question through her mind. Her mouth fell open as she tried to form a response. To be honest, it hadn't been out of ill-will nor had it been caused by her desire to protect her secret.

It had simply been because she just hadn't thought of the other people in the class. At that moment, she had only been thinking about how to protect herself.

"I don't know," Cyrna said slowly, "I guess I just wasn't sure if the explosion was going to happen—didn't trust my own conclusion completely, so I didn't want to cry wolf."

Hermione nodded understandingly before going back to work.


	15. Complications

**Chapter 15: Complications**

After having sat through one of the most monotonous lectures on old Wizarding inventions in History class and the most mind-numbing lecture on the colours and relative size of planets in Astronomy, Cyrna had begun seriously contemplating the wisdom of attending these classes. Sure, astronomy and history were both interesting subjects, but one suffered from horrible teaching while the other was just too easy.

Cyrna idly flipped through her Astronomy syllabus as she munched on a sandwich in the Great Hall:

 _'An introduction to Astronomy'_ , ' _Getting to know the Planets', 'What is the Sun?', 'The Movement of the Planets', 'Ursa Major', …_

The first few topics which spanned the entire first semester were all things she had learned before high school. Her memory on this subject _was_ a bit rough around the edges, but she was certain that she still remembered the most basic facts.

Cyrna looked at the notes she had taken in class, seeing that Daphne and the Hufflepuff girl she was sitting beside had been diligently copying everything from the chalkboard.

\- Mercury is the smallest planet.

\- It exists in space.

\- Closest planet to the su—

Cyrna heaved a sigh and closed her notebook. There had been some interesting parts in the lecture when Professor Sinistra had gone off on a tangent about the prophetic properties of the planets, but those parts, Cyrna soon discovered, were not testable for the first-year course.

"Not enjoying Astronomy?" Daphne asked curiously when she saw the exasperated expression on her friend's face as she shoved the Astronomy textbook and notebook back in her bag.

"It's all right, I guess." Cyrna grimaced. "It just seems like really impractical knowledge. I mean, if I had to fill my head with information, I'd rather fill it with something for useful for daily life. Even history would be more useful than what we just learnt today."

Daphne shrugged. "I think the course is interesting,"

"How so?" Theodore asked.

There were now just twenty minutes left until their Herbology lesson, and because of this, the Great Hall was quite empty at the moment. After Malfoy had made a scene at the Gryffindor table with Neville's Remembrall to antagonize Harry Potter, most of the Slytherins had followed him out the Hall once McGonagall had arrived on the scene.

"I like the night and stars," Daphne replied simply, her eyes taking a faraway expression.

Suddenly her eyes sharpened, returning to present, and she glanced significantly at Theodore.

Some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them, and Cyrna watched as Theodore's face fell for a moment before regaining his normal expression. He held Daphne's gaze.

"I do as well," he said quietly, sincerely.

Daphne smiled slightly.

 _Okay,_ Cyrna's eyes darted from one to another, _there is definitely something I'm not getting_. _Daphne's not blushing, so this isn't something romantic…_

 _I think?_

"But that aside, Cyrna, I just wanted to let you know that I won't be attending Herbology—as I'm sure you figured out on Monday—and the flying classes," said Daphne.

"Are you allowed to… just skip classes like that?" Cyrna questioned curiously. If that was the case, then perhaps for History and Astronomy…

"No, you really aren't supposed to." Daphne rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small rectangular piece of parchment. "You need a pass like this one to not attend the required classes. Your parents have to make the request for dropping the class, then you would need to have the Department of Magical Education sign it."

 _Damnit. I could have learnt more from the textbook than wasting my time and going to lecture. It's not like Binns actually teaches; he just reads the textbook verbatim._

 _Wait._

 _Did she say that she was going to skip Herbology?_

"But don't you need to have to pass first-year Herbology to advance to year two?"

"I do," Daphne conceded, "It's just that my credits for that course have already been taken care of."

* * *

Their Herbology lesson had been conducted outside in the beautiful autumn weather; the brightly coloured leaves lay scattered in the meadows, occasionally stirring when the chilly breeze brushed by. Despite the wind, it wasn't too cold as the sun still hung in the blue skies, bathing everyone with warmth.

The class had been calm as it was only consisted of Slytherins. Once the hour had began, Professor Sprout had taught them how to cast incendio to deal with Spiky Bushes, then she had pulled out the few Slytherins who had gotten the hang of the spell to show them the proper method of gathering the spikes from the plant.

The Spiky Bush would shoot its spikes at anyone who came near it, so there was a sort of dance, Cyrna learnt as she watched the professor efficiently extract the purple emulsion from a spike without needing to incendio the plant, that one had to perform to obtain the spike.

A step forward just in the Bushes' shooting range to tempt it to attack, then a step diagonally backwards to dodge the oncoming spike. Next, you'd nudge the spike that it had shot at you back with your feet until you were out of the Bushes' range before turning around and picking it up.

Of course, if all else failed, or if the plant was feeling especially vicious, you'd cast a well-placed incendio.

Cyrna gathered her little pile of spikes she had harvested and headed to Professor Sprout to turn it in.

"Good work," Sprout said briskly, placing a checkmark by her name. "And let's see an incendio for that one over there," she said, gesturing to the Spiky Bush sitting a distance away from the other Slytherins who were still harvesting the spikes.

Cyrna took her place and calmly walked forward until the plant twitched.

She felt as the air seemed to shift slightly as it usually did before the plant was about to attack, and she quickly took a step diagonally backwards just as the spike sailed past her.

" _Incendio_ ," she chanted with her wand pointing towards the plant which seemed to be preparing for another attack.

Instantly, the plant burst into flames, and soon, it quickly turned to ashes.

Having burnt up the intended target, the flames died out with a faint sizzle.

Cyrna looked back to see Professor Sprout watching her with a curious expression before she scribbled something down on her clipboard.

"Excellent job, Ms. Raine," Professor Sprout said, looking back up, "that's all I have for you today—unless you have any questions?"

Cyrna thought for a while.

"Well I have one—"

"Professor Sprout," Draco called as he walked over with Theodore holding their spikes, "we're finished."

Professor Sprout gave Cyrna an apologetic smile.

"It seems that I'll have to see you after dinner for your question. My office is five doors from the Hogwarts kitchen," Professor Sprout said briskly before hurrying over to Draco and Theodore to instruct them to perform an incendio.

Cyrna was about to walk away when she heard Theodore mutter " _incendio_."

She watched as the Spiky Bush caught on fire and burnt slowly.

Malfoy's " _incendio_ " yielded similar results.

 _Oh_.

 _That's why the professor was looking at me like that_.

Their Spiky Bushes burned like miniature campfires, and they were certainly nowhere near being cinders when Professor Sprout had cast " _aguamenti"_ to put out the fire.

Ever since the day of the Sorting, Cyrna had allowed more of her magic to run free to intimidate the Slytherins from bullying her. Still, even now… Cyrna gazed at her hands and envisioned the thin silver strands of magic which lay snugly tucked underneath the thicker strands that wrapped around her loosely… she was still restraining a good portion of her magic.

 _'And it will stay this way until I have better control_ ,' Cyrna thought with a shiver at how she had basically fainted from exhaustion when she had tried to release all of her magic.

* * *

"It really is too bad that Daphne isn't outside right now. The weather is amazing—not too hot, not too cold with a nice breeze and a bright sun," murmured Cyrna as she sat cross-legged with Theodore and Draco in the Quidditch field. They had been dismissed as they had finished Herbology early.

The same emotion she had seen at the Great Hall seemed to pass by Theodore's face again before it was quickly suppressed.

"Nothing to say, Theodore?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Or, perhaps, does she not—"

"Don't you dare," Theodore hissed, eyes turning cold.

Draco smirked.

"Wasn't going to say anything. I'd never throw another Pureblood's—especially one from the Sacred Twenty-Eight—secret out in the open."

 _Secret?_

Theodore's glare narrowed threateningly.

"Cross my heart," Draco vowed with a smirk, "my father taught me _that_ much common sense. So, Raine, pretend you heard nothing, alright?"

 _As if I could_.

Cyrna looked at Theodore who was now gazing at her coldly and Malfoy who was smirking victoriously.

"Sorry," Cyrna blinked with a confused expression, "Malfoy, did you say something?"

Draco gaped at her, uncertain if she was lying or telling the truth.

"My mind was a bit preoccupied, running through the do's and don'ts for flying—you know, we do have class in like," Cyrna checked the time, "seven minutes? I'm afraid my attention just wasn't present when you were speaking."

"But I promise you that you have my full attention right now, Malfoy."

Draco glared at her, and with a huff, got up from their spot on the Quidditch grounds and stormed over to the shack holding the school brooms.

"Well, what are you guys waiting for?" he snapped a moment later, sulking. "As you said, Raine, class _is_ about to start."

Theodore's look as he got up from the ground promised that he would be talking to her privately later.

Cyrna sighed and followed Malfoy to the shack.

 _Oh well. I tried. Still… I do wonder what's up with Daphne…_

She stood outside the shack with Theodore, watching as Malfoy angrily rummaged through the stacks of brooms.

"They're all terrible, I can't believe they'd have me fly _that_ around," he muttered with disgust.

"Surely you can tell the better ones from the others," Theodore said.

Draco sniffed arrogantly. "Of course I can."

He turned around, dug through a pile, and pulled out a broom that looked much straighter than the others in the shed. He mounted it and kicked off the ground, flying steadily in a small circle before landing again.

"Told you I could tell which ones are better," Draco said, smiling smugly as he handed Cyrna his broom before she could protest and returned into the shack to continue digging through the brooms.

In just a moment, he seemed to have found one that passed his standard, and he threw it at Theodore who accepted it without complaint.

"You've at least flown before, right, half-blood?" Draco asked with a sneer.

Cyrna frowned, not knowing where he was going with this. Of course she hadn't flown before, but it wasn't like she was going to admit that to him.

"I've flown before," she said tightly.

"Good. Wouldn't want you to embarrass Slytherin during class."

He rummaged through the shack a bit longer before pulling at a decent looking broomstick.

"Take this one," Draco said as he took his broom back from Cyrna.

Cyrna looked at the offered broom with a frown and a look of doubt.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I didn't do anything to the broom. As much as I'd like to watch you flail around in the sky, Snape gave me a lecturing that it was my responsibility as a leader—" he puffed up proudly at that "—to maintain the image of unity for Slytherin and all that." He scowled. "Even got my father to write a letter to me about that too."

Cyrna blinked, confused. "Why are you telling me this?"

Draco sighed in irritation. "I'm _saying_ that I'm going to be a bit more civil to you, _Cyrna_ ," he bit out, "and you are going to do the same to me when we're in public with the other houses and professors watching."

He didn't look like he was lying, nor did he look like the type of person capable of lying well. Though agreeing to civility might bring up a problem between her and Harry later, it wasn't like she could turn down what was basically a direct order from her Head of House.

There was no way she'd be able to explain herself to Snape if Malfoy reported back to the Professor that she had refused to play along.

"Thank you, Draco," she said evenly as she took the broom from his hand, watching Draco visibly cringe when she said his name.

"Right, and I've told the other Slytherins to play along," Draco muttered unhappily as he slinked towards the grounds where Madam Hooch was waiting patiently with several broomsticks laid out on the ground.

"We found these broomsticks in the shack," Draco said once he had drawn the attention of the yellow, hawk-like eyes of the professor. "May we use these instead?"

"Of course you may," answered Madame Hooch crisply. She turned and looked around before casting a quick tempus to check the time.

"Where are the other Slytherins?" she asked.

"They should be heading over here at any moment now," Theodore replied calmly. "We were dismissed first since we completed our lesson earlier."

Madame Hooch gave them a quick rundown of what to expect for class today when they saw the rest of the Slytherins heading down the hill to join them. Some looked as if they had simply stepped out from a lecture while others, such as Crabbe and Goyle, looked as if they had been through war.

Their hands, cheeks, and clothes were smudged with dirt; some areas of their robes were torn, and Cyrna could vaguely make out a pale scar that would probably disappear in the next hour or so on their cheeks.

Draco's lips tightened, clearly displeased by the state his so-called bodyguards had gotten into, but seeing as the teacher was present, Draco said nothing, and soon, all the Slytherins were lined up with their chosen brooms.

It was just moments later when the bell signifying the start of the next period rang.

Soon, the herd of Gryffindors appeared. They were clearly extremely excited for this class if the chattering and the smiles on their faces meant anything. They quickly lined up beside a broom when they saw that Madam Hooch and the other Slytherins were already present.

As soon as all the students arrived, Hooch started the class.

"Stick your hand to your right and shout 'UP'" the teacher instructed.

Cyrna glanced at her broom. She swallowed nervously.

"Up," she muttered quietly.

The broom twitched in response.

She looked at Harry who was holding the broom with a look of pride as it had responded on his first try.

"Intent is the key," whispered Theodore quietly beside her holding his broom.

 _Intent…_

She looked at the sky; the wide expanse of blue that stretched as far as the eye could see.

 _How many times when I was young did I dream of flying?_

 _…_

 _Too much to count._

It wasn't so much that she had dreamt of flying; rather, she had envied the freedom the birds appeared to experience when they glided without a care in the world as they soared in the skies. The turmoil of the world below never seemed to reach them.

Cyrna glanced back down to the ground below.

 _It was so far down._

 _And there's no safety net_.

"Aren't you scared about what would happen if you fell?" she asked Theodore.

Theodore gave her a strange look.

"I mean, it really only takes one fall from the skies to shatter your spine and kill you."

Theodore frowned.

"Those brooms have been illegal for a while now. The current ones, especially the ones at the school, have safety spells that keep you on the broom until you are a safe distance from the ground."

"But couldn't you—" Cyrna thought of Neville and Harry "—break your wrist or a joint even if you were to fall from that distance?"

"And that's what Madam Pomfrey is here for." He frowned again. "You're speaking like a muggle again, Cyrna. The law that all brooms must have safety spells on before they can be sold has been in place before we were born."

"Oh, is that so?" she said weakly before glancing at the skies again.

She watched an eagle soar; the winds rippled across its feathers, glimmering as it passed through the rays of the afternoon sun.

 _Maybe in this world…_

Cyrna looked at the broom beside her.

"UP," she commanded, allowing her desire to fly fill her words.

* * *

Cyrna winced when she heard the sickening thud and the cracking sound that Neville had made when he landed face-first on the ground.

Once Madam Hooch had disappeared inside the castle with Neville hobbling behind her, crying, Malfoy had burst into laughter. The rest of the Slytherins soon joined and taunts were thrown between the two houses.

Cyrna hung at the back of the group, watching as the scene played out in front of her with some satisfaction. As written, Harry had mounted his broom and had flown off after Malfoy to take back the Remembrall. Without Goyle or Crabbe in the air with him, Malfoy soon gave up the chase and threw the Remembrall away before returning to the ground.

"I'd like to see him try to save it from shattering," Malfoy sneered once he had landed.

"That was a gift from his grandmother!" Ron exclaimed furiously.

"From _that_ hag?" Pansy snickered. "We'd be doing him a favour of getting rid of it."

Ron's face turned an unpleasant shade of red as he glared at Pansy and Draco.

He was about to bite back a response when a sudden gasp from Hermione drew his attention.

Cyrna watched as anger vanished from Ron's face to be replaced with awe when he saw Harry streak down from the skies, hand reaching out to grasp the falling Remembrall as the wind whistled around him.

Closer and closer Harry neared the ground, and the louder and louder the screams became.

"I can't watch," Hermione muttered, looking away.

Theodore rolled his eyes with contempt as he looked at Harry.

"He's an idiot," he muttered to Cyrna who was also watching the fall.

"Catch it Harry, catch it!" Ron shouted, eyes lighting up with excitement as Harry's fingers brushed the surface of the Remembrall.

Cyrna smiled faintly.

Harry caught it and tumbled onto the ground safely. He held the Remembrall up victoriously, and the Gryffindors surrounded him at once, cheering.

"I guess that's why we weren't placed in Gryffindor, Theodore. I'd never have the courage or recklessness to do that."

Soon after he had landed, Professor McGonagall had appeared on the scene, speechless with anger and shock before she left, dragging a despondent-looking Harry Potter behind her.

"Suits him right," Malfoy sneered as the other Slytherins laughed gleefully at the turn of events.

Theodore snickered quietly. "It'd be great fun for me if they expelled Potter. Think of the headlines the Daily Prophet would have."

He continued on for a while, snickering, when he realized that his companion was silent.

He stopped and turned to see Cyrna gazing at him curiously. The blue eyes of hers seemed to glow slightly as they studied him with its piercing gaze. He felt himself gulp nervously though he made sure that his expression remained indifferent.

He didn't think she was angry. Her magic didn't seem agitated, instead it swirled around her calmly, peacefully.

"Well," he laughed awkwardly, not wanting to upset her if her show on the day of the Sorting was anything to go by, "we both know that Hogwarts would never expel the boy-who-lived."

The silence between them felt tense. Uncomfortable, Theodore made to walk off.

"You're different from the other Slytherins," said a soft voice, stopping his steps. Though the voice had not spoken loudly, it seemed to echo quietly within his mind, the wind carrying the whisper to his ears.

Theodore turned around.

Cyrna met his gaze calmly. "You're not like the others who blindly hate the boy-who lived."

He suppressed the urge to shiver.

"You hate him for a much more personal reason… don't you?"

Theodore stared at Cyrna uncomprehendingly. _How does she know?_ He ran through his conversations with her but could find nothing that would incriminate him.

He felt his mask finally gave away as Cyrna's eyes bore into his. She already knew the answer.

His lips twisted into a bitter sneer as he answered, "yes."

Cyrna remained silent. Her probing gaze remained on him even as he turned around to head towards the rest of the Slytherins who were mounting their brooms under the supervision of Madam Hooch who had returned from the Hospital wing.

He got on his broom and turned to look at Cyrna.

"But just so you know," he said after a tense pause, "I'm not like Malfoy. I won't do anything to your 'friend.' I know better than to fight losing battles."

* * *

Cyrna relaxed as she lazily drifted across the grey, cloudy afternoon sky on the school's broom. Despite her initial wariness on flying, once she had gotten on the broom and had felt the wind wrap around her as if _this_ was where she belonged, she had been waiting for her chance on Friday afternoon to fly again after the flying lesson on Thursday had ended.

Safe and peaceful. She couldn't quite explain why but that was how she felt when she was in the skies.

Her gaze idly scanned the grounds and the forest below as the autumn breeze gently brushed her cheeks, playfully tangling her hair.

Potions had ended a quite a few hours ago with nothing too particular happening. Daphne had attended, nothing had blown up, and—of course—Snape had deducted marks from Harry for pretty much everything, blaming him for the tiniest mistakes that others had caused during class.

It wasn't like she expected Snape to behave differently, but the sheer amount of reasons he somehow found to blame Harry was astonishing to say the very least.

Cyrna followed the edge of the Forbidden forest from the skies as she languidly drifted back towards the castle. It was almost dinner.

She passed by the fields that she had had her Herbology class in.

Yesterday, she had gone to Professor Sprout after dinner. Her appointment with the Hufflepuff Head really was a blessing as she had been trying to give Theodore some space after the flying lesson. The Herbology professor's face had brightened with pleasure when she explained that she was curious about the uses of the emulsion from the spikes they had gathered from the Spiky Bushes.

At that, the Professor had launched into an in-depth explanation about the proper extraction method and its uses in the wound-cleaning potion. After, she had excitedly gone to the back of her room and had pulled out two spikes; one of which she demonstrated the extraction, and the other which she allowed Cyrna to try.

She had of course known the uses of the spikes before she had gone to the office, having studied it during summer with Nicolas. However, because the Flamels never really had a use for wound-cleaning potions, there hadn't been any Spiky Bushes around the estate.

Cyrna looked at the small cuts she had gotten on her hand from her knife when it had slipped off the surface of the spike and had nicked her hand instead.

After her first three cuts, the Herbology professor had healed her and had taken the spike back, telling her that while she was happy with her enthusiasm, the extraction was perhaps something that was too difficult for a first-year to accomplish. Cyrna didn't argue otherwise, and she thanked the professor for her time before leaving the office, promising to herself that once she had her hands on a spike and some healing potions, she would try again by herself.

She checked the time.

30 minutes before dinner.

Cyrna quickened her speed as she urged her broom to fly faster towards the castle. The wind whistled around her, and everything was peaceful when she suddenly heard a weak nicker, like that of a horse, echo through her mind.

Immediately, she pulled to an abrupt halt. She quickly glanced around, but all she could see was the wide expanse of the sky as the orange hues of the evening began to settle in.

 _Strange. I'm sure I heard something. But how could I? I'm up here in the clouds._

With a shake of her head, she started forward again.

 _"Help me,_ " cried a voice weakly in her mind.

Cyrna glanced around in the sky, but it was empty.

 _I'm definitely not hearing things._ _So—_

Now only a quarter of the way from the castle, Cyrna flew downwards towards the ground. Before landing, she took one last look at her surroundings, and not seeing anything dangerous, she cautiously landed a safe distance away from the Forbidden forest.

As soon as she landed on the ground, the warmth and safety she had felt from the wind as it wrapped comfortingly around her seemed to fade. Instantly, she was alerted to the tension in the air.

Everything was still.

It was too quiet.

The usual chirps from the birds had stopped, and the rustling sounds of the other magical creatures living in the forest seemed to have disappeared.

She held her breath when the sky suddenly darkened.

A large cloud had covered the sun.

Every muscle in her body tensed, taut with anticipation. Her gut was telling her to flee.

So that was what she did—

—or at least,

That had been what she tried to do.

The instant she had jumped on her broom, ready to take off towards the castle as fast as possible, a loud rustling sound to her left from the direction of the Forbidden forest was heard.

She shot up to the skies reflexively, trying to get as much distance away from herself and the sound when she saw the most beautiful white horse she had ever seen painfully stumble out of the forest.

No, not a horse.

Her face paled as she saw the silver liquid dripping from its flank as the creature dragged itself to where she was hovering in the air.

 _A unicorn_.

It left drips of silver blood; its coat had a faint sheen of sweat as it tiredly lifted its eyes to meet hers, allowing her to catch a view of its horn.

 _"Help me… help me,"_ it pleaded to her before it collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily.

 _A unicorn. Book one of Harry Potter…_

From her vantage point in the skies, she watched in horror as a figure slowly approached, standing between her and the castle.

 _Quirrell._

The air tensed around her; danger apparent as the forest itself seemed to shy away from the man.

"M-Ms. R-Raine," stuttered the man with a smile that didn't seem to quite match the hesitance in his speech. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the light as he looked up to Cyrna. "W-what would a young l-lady like you be d-doing here?"

Remembering the curse Quirrell had placed on Harry's broom in the book, she decided she was much safer confronting him on the ground. So she landed, dropping to the ground near the body of the injured unicorn.

She felt alert. Her entire body tense as her magic began to pulse and push against the bounds she had created to constrain it. Her eyes sharply took her in her surroundings, mind set only on one thing:

Getting herself out alive.

Cyrna knelt on the ground, and casually brushed the blood-matted mane of the unicorn with a slight tremble that ran through her fingers as she slipped her wand from the wand-holder under her arm to her hand.

She took a deep breath, stepped back, and offered an uncertain smile to the professor.

"I was just flying back to Hogwarts for dinner when I saw the unicorn. I wasn't sure if it was dangerous or not, so I decided to watch it from above—it's not everyday you get to see one, after all, sir."

"O-oh, how s-smart of you M-Ms. Raine." Quirrell smiled back pleasantly though his eyes held a glint of madness in them. "I h-haven't c-covered unicorns in l-lecture yet, b-but they can be quite d-dangerous ind-d-deed."

Quirrell took a step forward, and it took all of her will not to step back. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he visibly swallowed as he fixed his eyes on the unicorn.

The unicorn, jolted from the ground, and gave a terrified whinny; its eyes rolling in fright.

 _"Mistress!"_ the voice cried with panic. _"Run!"_

 _Mistress?_

Cyrna glanced at the unicorn; terror slowly edging into her veins as she watched Quirrell approach them. There was something strange about Quirrell—and no, not in the sense that Voldemort was attached to the back of his head, but in the madness in his eyes which had never been present when he taught his DADA classes.

The unicorn struggled to stand, but it was too heavily injured to do so.

In his right mind, even with Voldemort present, Cyrna doubted that he would have killed her. After all, he had never done away with any student in the books. He wanted, no, needed, to maintain a low-profile. But right now, Cyrna wouldn't have bet anything on his ability to make a rational judgement. She doubted he would just let her walk out of this situation and pretend that she didn't see anything.

Suddenly, the eyes which had been fixated on the unicorn shifted to focus on her. " _Mssss. Raine_ ," Quirrell said as he licked his parched lips again. "My Masss-"

He paused, and cocked his head to a side, listening to a voice that only he could hear.

"N-n-no, no, no, no," he whispered furiously to himself. "C-can't… No, n-not with Dumbledore…"

Cold. Strangely calm, like she was detached. She knew her heart was pounding away, her body tensing and her hand tightening its grip on the wand to the point where she was surprised that her wand had not snapped.

She wanted to move, but she couldn't. Her body seemed to be rooted on the spot as she watched with dilated eyes the scene that was happening in front of her. There was no doubt in her mind that they were arguing about her, and she had a sickening idea that they were arguing whether to kill her or not.

Perhaps the only reason why they hadn't was because she was a child. Perhaps if she acted like one of those ignorant children she had to bear listening to every day… perhaps if she acted like she still hadn't notice anything out of the ordinary, she could still survive, because there was no way she could beat him in a duel.

There was one more option, Cyrna knew, for escape. She thought of the portkey that hung around her neck. But if she used that, she would not be able to return to Hogwarts in this year. Quirrell would definitely suspect that she knew something or had seen something, and she was pretty sure that if he believed that she had seen something incriminating, he would have no qualms in silencing her. There was also no way she could tell the Headmaster, any professors, or any of her friends about this without drawing Quirrell into the light of suspicion—something that would definitely mess up the storyline a great deal.

 _"Run!"_ the unicorn urged in her mind.

 _Would love to do that,_ Cyrna thought hysterically, _but the consequences that come with that aren't any that I can accept._

Swallowing and after forcing herself to take in several gulps of air, she forced herself to talk.

"Sir!" her voice shook, and it came out as a whisper. Quirrell paid no attention to her and continued to mutter to himself.

"Sir!" she said louder, her voice obviously trembling. This time Quirrell looked up. His eyes seemed unfocused as they stared in her general direction.

"Yesss?"

His lips twisted into a smile that along with his sibilant speech chilled Cyrna even more. Not really even needing to fake it, she felt tears well up in her eyes from the sheer terror she was in. In it for a penny, in it for a pound, she thought distantly.

"Th-the unicorn is hurt," she choked out with slight sniffles. She forced her wide, tear-filled gaze at Quirrell. "And I don't know how to help it."

Her eyes continued to well with tears and she sniffled again for good measure. "Sir, can you teach me how to heal it?"

"Hmm, t-teach you, you sssay?" Quirrell's eyes seemed to spark with intrigue before he gave a laugh that prickled her skin. "No, I-I'm afraid I only know how to d-defend myself against d-dark creatures," he stammered as he walked closer. "I can t-try to h-heal it though."

Suddenly, Quirrell whipped out his wand, and on reflex, her adrenalin focussed on just simply surviving, Cyrna grabbed her necklace immediately.

 _"Ho—"_

"— _And what_ ," said a silky voice softly from the shadows behind her, " _is happening here?_ "

Cyrna's heart stuttered to a halt as she paused midway through the word that would have activated her portkey. She turned around, instinctively trusting the owner of the voice to have her back.

She couldn't help it as her mask fell as she turned away from Quirrell. The fear which warred with the new wave of relief must have been clearly visible in her expression as Snape's eyes seemed to widen when they met hers.

"Professor Snape"


	16. The Flower

**Chapter 16: The Flower**

 _"_ _Professor Snape."_

Cyrna spoke, her voice trembling in relief as she collapsed where she was standing in front of the unicorn and allowed her adrenaline to fade as she listlessly petted the matted silver hair of the unicorn.

The onyx eyes narrowed at her, darting to the injured unicorn behind his student before settling on the figure of Quirrell who had hastily lowered his wand.

"I-it's not what it seems, S-severus," Quirrell stuttered out.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he used his magic to drag the idiot of a professor a distance away from the student. His eyes bored into the seemingly frightened ones of the DADA professor once he had cast _Muffliato_. "I do apologize if I'm wrong, or if my eyes have deceived me" he drawled with a voice dripping with sarcasm, "but _were you pointing your wand at a student?_ "

An eyebrow rose, unimpressed, as the man stumbled over his words, trying to get the explanation out. Snape's posture was casual, yet the sharpness in his gaze as he stalked towards Quirrell was anything but.

"I don't know what you are planning," he hissed quietly at the quivering man, "but I would recommend you think twice before crossing me."

"B-but I really was just t-trying to heal the unicorn. You see—"

Snape's lips curled with distain as he sneered. Dumbledore would not have told him to keep an eye on Quirrell for no reason.

"Y-you see," Quirrell tried to begin again, looking absolutely petrified, "I o-only really know how to d-defend myself against them, b-but I suddenly remembered r-reading a paper about h-how t-to heal a unicorn. Ms. Raine here, asked me if I could help it, and though I s-said no, I thought I'd try the spell out. I mean," he blathered on, "it wasn't l-like there was anything to l-lose in this case for the unicorn. It's a-already b-bleeding out."

 _"_ _Really?_ " Snape said icily.

"W-well—"

Snape roughly yanked on the robes of the DADA professor and watched with a strange sort of glee as he lost his balance and stumbled towards him.

* * *

Cyrna sat on the ground near the unicorn. Despite nearing death with every minute, the unicorn seemed to emit some sort of peace that, now that she was not as terrified, seemed to be working its way into her mind to calm her. The air that had been heavy with darkness seemed to lighten as Snape had dragged Quirrell away from her.

It was relatively safe know, she thought. She closed her eyes, and she forced her breathing to even as she allowed her mind to objectively recount the events which had happened. She was unsure of how long she sat there organizing the information in her mind when the unicorn whinnied weakly in warning.

 _"_ _Mistress!"_ it said.

Cyrna tensed slightly as she opened her eyes. She expected the professors to turn around and look at the unicorn who had spoken, but it seemed as if they both couldn't hear it, or they had decided to ignore it.

Her eyes slid curiously to meet the unicorn's gaze, and saw its pained gaze focused completely on her, urging her to flee. She looked back at the scene and saw that Snape seemed to be whispering aggressively towards the DADA professor, causing his countenance to twist with anger for a split second. Anger. Not that crazed glint that she had recognized as madness.

"We should be fine," she murmured at an attempt to comfort the beast.

" _No. Not safe,"_ it replied.

Cyrna frowned. Though the air was tense around the two distant figures, it wasn't anything unexpected. She glanced back questioningly at the unicorn.

 _"_ _Look closely, mistress,_ " it said weakly.

Her frown deepened as she heeded its advice and focused harder when she saw it. It was hard to explain, the air around them just _looked_ wrong _._

' _You can't see air, Cyrna!'_ she scolded herself as she shook herself from the irrational path her thoughts had started to follow. But the more she focused, the more she thought she could see pale slivers of black strands inch towards Quirrell; however, when she blinked again, they would disappear.

Cautiously, she slowly made her way towards the professors, and stopped when Quirrell's eyes flicked towards her. The air around her felt filthy as she neared the professors, almost as if some sort of grease was sliding across her skin with every step she made. The black strands seemed more poignant each time she saw them, but they continued to disappear each time she blinked and lost her focus. Taking a steadying breath, Cyrna walked right over to Quirrell and gave a small tug on his sleeve.

It was harder to tear-up now that she was not frightened, but nevertheless, she was able to force a glossy sheen onto her eyes. "Professor, it's dying," she teared up a bit more, "The unicorn is dying. Help it, you were going to help it weren't you?"

Regardless of what was happening, if something as sensitive to magic like the unicorn was warning her of danger, it probably wouldn't do anyone good if the situation escalated. Cyrna felt the hair on her skin prickle as Quirrell's gaze sharpened on her, and the spark of anger disappeared to be replaced with curiousity. She watched warily as the black strands seemed to halt in their progression before they started to melt back into ground and disappear into the air around her.

She rubbed her eyes again and then the strands were gone.

"Oh?" Snape drawled archly as his gaze flickered from Quirinus to his student.

"Really, sir," Cyrna said as sorrowfully as she could. "I was just startled when Professor Quirrell pointed his wand at the unicorn, that's all."

She cocked her head to the side as she assessed her two professors with a look of child-like naivety. "You _can_ help the unicorn, right?"

Quirrell's posture relaxed slightly as he gave a short breath of laughter. "M-my apologies for startling you, Ms. Raine, t-though I have to say, y-you are q-quite commendable in your reaction. I d-do believe you will do very well in DADA if you continue your st-studies in it."

The lips of the DADA professor twisted into a smile as he gently removed her hand from his sleeve.

Cyrna suppressed her urge to shiver.

"Nevertheless, I-I don't believe there is anything I-I c-can do for the creature now. It's a bit too close to d-death," Quirrell stuttered out regretfully with a quick glance to the stilling unicorn, "s-so, if there is nothing else for me to d-do here, I'd best be back for d-dinner, and you'd b-best hurry b-back too." Quirrell gave a strange twitch of his hand as a goodbye wave before departing hastily across the field to the castle without a second glance at Snape.

Snape watched the retreating figure with suspicion. There was obviously far more to the situation than she had let on. That terror he had seen for a moment in his student's eyes before she had glanced away was not something that could be written off as being startled. He doubted she was helping Quirinus in what Dumbledore suspected he was up to, but at the same time, he couldn't see a reason why she had helped him just now.

He turned to his first-year Slytherin, his eyes darkening with displeasure. He would be watching her carefully to make sure she wouldn't get into any mischief unbecoming of the Slytherin House.

"I do so hope that your little… meetings with Gryffindor's golden boy hasn't placed any foolish thoughts in your mind to aid illicit acts," he spoke after she had appeared decently cowed by the severity of his gaze and had dropped her little act.

"No, sir."

"Then watch who you lie to, otherwise expulsion may not be far off," Snape said icily.

Snape watched as the two large pool of crystal blues shifted to gaze at the ground, and not for the first time, he reminded himself that no matter how strange or suspicious the situation might be, he had no authority to read any student's mind.

"Yes, sir," the child answered resignedly before she turned back towards the unicorn when it nudged her outstretched hand.

* * *

Cyrna's eyes could not leave that of the creature's even as her vision misted over with tears. There was just something so inherently _wrong_ about this. To see such purity and innocence fading into death… Her hand twitched when she felt a wet drop of liquid land on it. She felt herself make a quiet noise of questioning.

More drops fell.

Slowly, she reached for her cheeks. A faint brush of her fingers caught the droplets of tears which were trailing down her face.

"Wha—" she murmured, her throat suddenly constricting.

Cyrna felt her eyes water even more. The heart beating in her chest seemed to twist strangely as it gave a sudden throb the longer the unicorn held her gaze. "Why?" she breathed as she gazed at the drops on her fingers.

"One of the side effects of watching something as pure as a unicorn die."

With great effort, Cyrna pried herself away from the dulling gaze of the unicorn that had seemed to hold her captive and turned to her professor. His black eyes which had seemed inscrutable in daylight were now like fathomless pits as the darkened sky cast shadows over his face. They bore into her own tear-filled eyes, and search as she might, she could not find a hint of sorrow, or really, any other emotion swimming in them.

"Are you not affected by the side effects?" her curious whisper fell from her lips before she could stop herself.

The professor studied her indifferently for a few more moments before his gaze flickered back to the dying unicorn.

"Not unaffected, Ms. Raine. That would be impossible. I just have better control over my emotions," he said.

Cyrna felt her lips twitch slightly into a small smile at the familiarity of that phrase though her eyes remained misted. She felt compelled to look back at the unicorn.

 _"_ _Mistress, can you heal me?"_

Cyrna looked at her hands which were trembling from the unexpected emotion. She reached into her pockets and withdrew a clean handkerchief. Shakily, she began to wipe away the blood and the dirt surrounding the wound to get a better picture of what she was working with.

The more she wiped, the more her heart sank. Its internal organs had been damaged to an extent that she had never learned to fix in her school. Her abilities were not advanced enough to heal the wound.

"Professor, can you help it?"

There was a pause before he spoke. "Would I not have done something if I could?"

"So there's nothing you can do," Cyrna said quietly with disbelieving laughter. _What of the time you prolonged the Headmaster's life? The time you saved Arthur Weasley? What of your own creation, Vulnera Sanetur?_

 _Aren't you supposed to be a prodigy? Aren't you supposed to be able to heal something as small as this wound?_

Snape must have heard the skepticism in her laughter for when he spoke again, his voice was frigid. "Now if you've looked your full on the creature and have finished dawdling around, it would be much obliged if we could return to the Great Hall sometime before dinner."

Cyrna winced slightly at his tone, though she felt a spark of irritation race through her at his words. How could he just leave the unicorn to die by itself?

 _Wait._ Cyrna frowned. _Why am I wasting my time to watch it die? What could I possibly gain from doing this?_ Try as she might, she couldn't think of an answer, but her body seemed rooted to the spot. She felt a strange sense of something, perhaps responsibility, compelling her to stay.

"I am going to stay until it passes… sir."

"If you want to destroy your innocence and watch a unicorn die, do as you will," Snape said stiffly, "but do not dare stay out pass curfew."

She heard the abrupt swishing of cloth accompanied by the sounds of footsteps as the professor left.

Refocusing her attention on the unicorn, she slowly removed her trembling hands from the wound. She clenched her hands in a fist and vaguely noted how cold they had become. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the unicorn as the tears continued to fall.

The unicorn nickered gently. _"It is not your fault, mistress. Perhaps, my time has just ran to its end."_

"Snape, he should have… should have been able to help," Cyrna said. "I mean he's a Potions Master! He must have had some sort of potion on him that would at least buy you some time!"

The unicorn seemed to breath a sigh filled with sorrow. " _That man… his magic is tainted with a sort of evil that would harm rather than heal me._ "

Her eyes widened. _The Dark Mark_. "So he really couldn't have helped you…" she murmured feeling slightly ashamed for her lack of faith in her Head of House.

Cyrna sat in silence for the rest of the time, keeping the unicorn company as its breathing slowed.

She thought it had died when she suddenly heard a quiet whisper, " _Mistress, can you carry my soul back to my family?"_

She furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed. Still, she was not going to say "no", even if it was an empty promise.

"Of course," she replied softly. Then she remembered something else. "Say, why do you call me 'mistress'?"

Cyrna didn't know how much time had passed as she waited in silence for its answer, for its death—she wasn't too sure what she was waiting for.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Time seemed terribly insignificant as she stoically watched the last drop of blood empty from the unicorn and its gaze turn dull and lifeless. Cyrna sighed as her tears began to slow and prepared to return to the castle when a sudden gust of wind arose, wrapping around her comfortingly just as the last drop of blood bled from the unicorn and vanished, along with the body, with a bright flash of light.

Cyrna winced as she shielded her eyes.

 _"_ _We call you mistress because you are our mistress,"_ a voice echoed quietly before vanishing along with the wind.

"What—" Cyrna carefully blinked open her eyes to see a small silver flower glowing softly in the evening sky. As if it wasn't her own, her hand reached steadily for the flower and plucked it from the ground. She cradled it gently in her palms and allowed one last tear to fall.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, that I couldn't help you," she whispered to the empty air.

And for the first time in a long while, Cyrna felt true regret colour her words.

* * *

Cyrna didn't see Harry or Ron much at all outside of their shared Potions and Flying classes. It wasn't purposeful, it wasn't that they had a disagreement—they just didn't have time to meet. Between his Quidditch practices and his homework, Harry found himself constantly in the training grounds or in his dormitory with Ron. Cyrna on the other hand, was kept primarily occupied by library where she began digging deeper into books about Transfigurations and about the hypothetical souls of magical creatures. In frequenting the library so often, she did end up seeing Hermione almost every day.

Sometimes they would sit together, other times, Cyrna would just nod a greeting and leave for a more secluded corner of the library. She didn't mind sitting with Hermione, it was just that whenever she did, she would receive curious stares from the students around them as well as from Hermione herself—all of which was incredibly distracting.

Today was one of those days.

Hermione was busy chattering at a Hufflepuff who seemed too kind to tell her she was not interested in knowing the six different theoretical states the cure of boils went through during the potion-making process, so Cyrna just swept away towards her favourite corner of the library. Noticing that her spot was empty as usual, she sat down and pulled out a small wooden box containing the strange silver glowing flower that she had plucked on the night the unicorn had died.

She hadn't forgotten her promise to the unicorn, and though she would like to keep it, she was fairly confused about how she could carry its soul back to its family. Never mind not knowing where the rest of the unicorns were living, how was she supposed to find its soul?

If she had still been in her past world, she might have scoffed at the thought of a soul. So perhaps she had never fully believed that one's emotions or conscience was just the outcome of a pathway of chemical signals, but neither had she thought or placed much weight into something as abstract as a soul or spirit. However, from what she read in the books, there were many events that would support the existence of souls.

Her corner of the library was usually dead silent. No one really ever studied there because it was so far from the entrance and the lighting was poor. The only light came from several small arched windows high up on the walls of the room. So, when Cyrna heard footsteps, she was surprised, and even more so when she realized that they were heading directly towards her.

Quickly, she shut the lid on her flower and angled her body so that she could see who it was.

"Hello, Cyrna," Hermione said with an uncharacteristic sort of nervousness.

Cyrna tilted her head slight, intrigued.

"Hey," Cyrna replied with a small smile, "what brings you here?"

"Oh-um." Hermione shifted nervously. "D-doyouwanttostudytogether?"

Cyrna blinked. _What did she say?_

"Sorry?" Cyrna asked.

"It'sokayifyoudon'twantto,but—"

"Hermione," Cyrna interjected. She resisted the urge to laugh. "Slow down."

"Oh," she flushed slightly with embarrassment, "I just wanted to ask if you would like to study together, I mean, you would sometimes just sit with me and study by yourself, and I hear you were really smart, so I was wondering if you would be okay if—"

"Okay." Cyrna smiled at the stunned expression Hermione had. "I assume you wanted to orally run through the concepts together?"

"Yes!" Hermione said with relief that she wouldn't have to further explain. She sat down on the desk beside Cyrna's and took out her textbooks when she noticed a small, unassuming wooden box.

Hermione began running through the concepts with Cyrna, and found to her delight, that what she said was not lost on the other girl, and if anything, it seemed as if Cyrna understood the concepts and would ask her questions that prompted her to think about parts of the topics that she had not considered. Slowly, she began to carefully ease her way into her favourite subjects of History and Charms. Cyrna seemed to enjoy discussing Charms as much as she did Transfigurations and Potions, but when it came to History, Hermione could tell that she really had no interest. Still, Cyrna listened attentively to her ramblings and, occasionally, she noted a fond sort of amused gleam when she talked.

Eventually, they settled down into a comfortable silence where Hermione was re-writing parts of her class notes and Cyrna, she noted, was skimming through a huge stack of herbology books. Hermione couldn't help but glance curiously at the wooden box again.

"What's in there?" she asked.

Cyrna stopped what she was doing and stared at her for a moment before a sudden spark of light lit her eyes.

"Of course, why didn't I think of it before?" Cyrna muttered to herself. She opened the box, and Hermione gasped quietly in surprise.

"It's beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed when she saw the small glowing flower.

Cyrna made a noise of agreement though a shadow seemed to cross her face for a moment as she stared at the flower.

"Do you recognize it?"

Hermione stared at the flower again. Something niggled at the back of her mind.

"I think I have read about it before…" Hermione said uncertainly.

"Oh? Where?" Cyrna asked curiously.

She remembered that the book had pages which had been yellowed over time, with several tea stains on the page. The edges of the book had been frayed and some pages had been ripped.

"It was a really old book that I found in the History section of the library."

"History…" Cyrna frowned thoughtfully. _Maybe that's why I couldn't find it._

The flower seemed important to Cyrna, Hermione thought, as she saw her gaze at the flower.

Perhaps Cyrna sensed her curious glance because she looked up with a small smile. "I made a promise I would like to keep, Hermione. And I thought that perhaps this flower would offer me a clue."

If anything, Hermione felt even more curious. About the promise, yes, though she resisted from prying, but also about the Slytherin. Everyone she had spoken to in her house, with the exception of Harry, seemed to believe the house was practically evil incarnate. The Hufflepuffs she had spoken to had been wary of the house, though they didn't say anything bad about them, and the Ravenclaws had just given her the history and the attributes the House stood for when she asked about it—a completely objective answer.

As for her, she rather liked Cyrna. She knew that Harry was fond of her too, though Ron seemed to shiver slightly in fear and take on a slight look of confusion when her name was mentioned. Besides, someone who kept her promises couldn't be as bad as the others thought of her to be. If she thought about it on simpler terms, she knew that she loved being around the Slytherin. For some reason, she couldn't seem to get along with her House, especially Ron. The Hufflepuffs never seemed to be too interested in what she was saying, and the Ravenclaws she had spoken to seemed to treat gaining knowledge as a competition. Cyrna… she listened. So perhaps it may have been out of politeness, but there had been no judgement in her eyes as she had rambled on.

"I can help you find the book," Hermione said.

Cyrna felt her eyes narrow slightly, but then she reminded herself that she was dealing with a Gryffindor and not a Slytherin. If she was offering help, she wasn't about to decline.

"Really! I'd appreciate your help so much!" Cyrna grinned. "Thanks Hermione!"

"Ah—" Hermione blushed slightly. "T-That's what friends are for, right?" she stammered out quickly before she quickly packed her bag and rushed out of the library.

Cyrna blinked slowly as her corner of the library returned to silence. _Friends_ … _I seem to be picking up a lot of those… first Harry, Daphne, now her._ She still wasn't too sure if she was comfortable with the idea, especially with the Gryffindors. Allies, she could understand, but friends? Not as much. The emotional support they likely wanted from her was something she doubted she would ever be able to give, yet…

 _Unbeknownst to her, Cyrna's lips curved into a soft smile as she tapped her quill against her lips in thought. She remembered experiencing this simple sort of friendship as a child, then she had grown up and friendship seemed to become another term for a mutually beneficial relationship of the 'you help me, I help you' sort._

Yet… as she thought of the time she had spent with her friends at Hogwarts, she couldn't quite seem to find the displeasure that had once accompanied that term.


	17. Spiky Bushes

**Chapter 17: Spiky Bushes**

"I really don't know why I can't do anything correct in Transfigurations," Cyrna said with a resigned sigh as she headed out of the Transfigurations classroom. She was at her wit's end with that course. All she could conclude was that she had no talent whatsoever in that branch of magic.

"It's strange," Daphne agreed. "Maybe you're just not meant for it—I mean, even McGonagall seemed stumped when you failed to perform the spell today."

"Really? She just looked disappointed to me," Cyrna muttered.

Daphne pursed her lips tightly to hide a grimace. "Perhaps there was a bit of that too," she relented.

"I knew I could always count on you to cheer me right up."

Daphne felt a small grin threaten to take over. "At the cost of lying?" She scoffed dismissively. " _I'd_ never to that to you."

"Right," Cyrna said dryly as she saw the grin on her friend's face.

"So what are you going to do now? Head to the library as usual?" Daphne asked.

Cyrna mulled over the options of what she could do. Usually on Tuesdays after Transfigurations she would head to the library, come down to the Great Hall for dinner, then head back to the dorm for a quick rest before waking up at midnight for her astronomy lab class. But today, the package of healing potions that she had asked Nicolas to send to her had arrived during breakfast, and she had been itching with excitement this whole day to test her hand at extracting the emulsion from the spikes of the Spiky Bush again.

"I'd like to head out to collect some spikes from the Bushes near the greenhouse…" Cyrna trailed off.

Daphne hummed thoughtfully.

"But the last time, when I went out to explore… it didn't really end so well," Cyrna finished.

Daphne made a noise of interest. "What happened?"

"Came across a dying animal, which was traumatizing in its own way. Nearly got caught in a spell the DADA professor was casting. Then, I was told off by our Head of House not to cause any mischief, and that I would be in trouble if I dared to break curfew."

"And that all happened in the span of a single evening?"

"Wish I could say otherwise," Cyrna replied grimly.

Since that evening, she had been on edge every time she walked into her DADA class. Nothing really happened except for the quick glances Quirrell would throw at her every so often during the practical DADA magic sessions. Each of the glances would bring a wash of prickling cold over her, and each time, she would steel her resolve and continue to practice her spellwork as if all was right with the world.

Daphne pursed her lips thoughtfully before a grin broke out. "I think I shall join you on your little excursion this time. How about we go in the evening? That's when most of the plants are easier to collect."

 _Did she just say she was coming?_ Cyrna halted abruptly causing Daphne to turn back and look at her. "You want to come," Cyrna said blandly.

"Why yes, I believe that was what I implied," Daphne smirked.

Cyrna's head tilted slightly with confusion. _But she never wants to come when I go out._

Daphne shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "I don't really enjoy the outdoors, though I do remember being a willing participant in your little experiment with your wand a month ago. I let you drag me out to the castle grounds then, didn't I?"

Cyrna smirked sheepishly. "That's true," she conceded as she began walking again. _Even if I met Quirrell again, I doubt he'd go as far as to attack two students, especially if one is a Pureblood heir of the Sacred Twenty-Eight._

"Well, I'm not about to reject your company that you've deigned to bless me with—" Cyrna rolled her eyes sarcastically—"so I guess you can come."

"Keep talking with that sarcasm and snark and I will yet make a fine Pureblood Slytherin out of you, Ms. Raine," Daphne said approvingly before breaking out into a small laugh with Cyrna. "After dinner then?"

"After dinner," Cyrna confirmed.

* * *

Cyrna lounged leisurely on her desk in her dormitory as she flipped through the instructions in how to perform the extraction. Prince was on her lap sleeping peacefully as she combed through his fur.

The steps for the extraction were actually fairly simple. The difficulty lay in the smooth, slippery surface of the spikes. Her small child-like hands were not as agile and steady as her past hands had been, so it had been hard for her to make the proper incision. Having memorized the steps again, she closed her notebook and slotted it back to its original position on the shelf. She envisioned the motions in her mind and was about to practice it when the door to her room flew open with a loud bang.

Startled, Cyrna jerked out of her chair as she stood up, and Prince landed on the ground with a sharp hiss.

"Theodore!" Cyrna stifled her shout when she saw who it was.

"Daphne said she was leaving to go out with you this evening?"

Cyrna stared at Theodore who looked like he had sprinted all the way down from dinner at the Great Hall. His tie and his hair which was usually meticulously done up seemed to be rather distressed.

"Yes. That's what is happening," she answered slowly. "Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing." Theodore said before leaving as abruptly as he came.

Cyrna stared at the closed door. Her room was silent once again.

She shared a look of utter confusion with Prince before she slowly stepped around her chair to pick up her expandable satchel. Now that her practice had been interrupted, she was more inclined to just practice the motions after the outing.

"Well, I guess I'll be heading out now," Cyrna muttered to Prince as she shoved a few healing potions into her satchel. "Are you coming?"

"Mreow!" Prince replied as he scampered excitedly to the door.

Smiling slightly at his antics, Cyrna walked briskly to catch up with Prince who was trotting happily a few feet in front of her. She had just rounded the corner to the Great Hall when she spotted Theodore leaning nonchalantly by the entrance. A stiff smile appeared on his face as Cyrna approached him.

"You look like you're dressed to head out as well," Cyrna observed curiously as Prince circled back to her.

"I am," Theodore replied shortly. He turned around and peered inside the Great Hall before he gave a little wave to a figure who was chatting happily with the upper-year Slytherins.

The figure waved back and excused herself from the table before making her way to the door.

"Hey Theodore! Cyrna!" Daphne exclaimed with a smile. She bent down to give Prince a quick pat before she peered curiously at Theodore. "Are you coming with us as well?"

"Haven't you heard the rumours about the monster that roams near the Forbidden Forest, preying on unicorns?" Theodore asked in response. "There is safety in numbers."

"Though hypothetically speaking," Cyrna mused darkly as she thought of the DADA professor, "if we did meet that monster, I doubt numbers would mean anything."

"Yes. Besides, Theodore," Daphne's eyes sparked with amusement, "you're just one more to our current group."

"That I am," he agreed with a small smile to Daphne. "Which is why I invited the rest of the Slytherins from our years to join us."

Prince hissed quietly with displeasure at the thought of more humans.

"And they agreed?" Cyrna asked skeptically, knowing full well how they felt towards her.

"I told them that this outing was Daphne's idea."

Cyrna and Daphne shared a glance with each other. Cyrna frowned questioningly at Daphne to which Daphne replied with a slight shrug indicating she had no idea what was happening either. Then again, Cyrna thought as she saw the familiar arrogant strut coming towards them from a distance, this had turned out to be rather beneficial for her. She sincerely doubted that Voldemort would take any action against his own house, especially if most of them were children of his own Death Eaters. Why Theodore felt the need to invite them? She wasn't too sure, but she wasn't about to complain. So, Cyrna remained quiet when Draco, with Pansy clinging to his side, stopped in front of Daphne and Theodore to greet them.

"It's rare for you to want to wander outside," Draco said smoothly to Daphne. His gaze rested on Cyrna for a moment before he smirked at Theodore.

"I'm rather fickle, what can I say?" Daphne replied carelessly. "Is everyone coming?"

Pansy frowned and exchanged glances with the other Slytherins behind her.

"Where are we going?" asked Pansy. "Theodore just told us to meet you in front of the Great Hall."

"To the greenhouse. I'm going with Cyrna to help her collect some spikes."

"The greenhouse…" Pansy trailed off, her eyebrows scrunched slightly in disgust.

Glancing at Cyrna who had been quietly listening in, she sneered. "What in the world would you want the spikes for?" she asked her.

"I need it for a potion."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Can't you just buy the potion—or the ingredient even!"

"I'd rather not rely on the store when I could just make the potion for free," Cyrna replied simply.

Pansy snickered quietly with Millicent. "The poverty of a half-blood, I see," she taunted.

Prince snarled at Pansy who looked surprisingly alarmed.

Cyrna smiled lightly at her familiar though the statement did get her wondering what she was going to do with her issue of money. Sure the Flamels had taken her in and had practically paid for her tuition, but at the same time, it wasn't as if they had deposited anything in her Gringotts account—assuming she even had one. She should definitely start thinking of money if she wanted that plane ticket to freedom—or perhaps a portkey? No, she doubted the Ministry of Magic would authorize a portkey for a child. Either way, she had time. At least a few more years of leeway to get the money or to develop enough skills to hopefully apparate to unknown locations safely—something which she doubted she would try after reading of the repercussions.

Pansy seemed to be smirking victoriously by now, seeing as she still hadn't responded. Cyrna didn't mind. Let her win whatever petty psychological warfare she thought she had won.

"Perhaps I see this as a way to practice my potion-making," Cyrna finally offered with a small shrug.

Pansy's eyes widened slightly in surprise before the smirk reappeared. "Well _someone_ wants to curry favour with our Head of House—"

Suddenly she paused.

Cyrna watched as Pansy's smirk widened into a grin as she turned back to Millicent who had been quietly standing next to Gregory and Goyle. They exchanged a glance, though Cyrna thought that it was probably more of a glare. After a while, Millicent seemed to grudgingly acquiescence as she glanced away.

"Honestly Cyrna, if you want our Head of House to like you, you should start by not sitting with that Mudblood," Pansy said condescendingly. "Right now Millicent and I are partners with Draco, but it suits better if Millicent was to partner with you instead."

 _For you or for me?_ Cyrna doubted that Snape, in the present, really cared that much about blood status—she had heard from the other classes that he had picked on Purebloods, Half-bloods, and Muggle-borns all the same; only staying his vitriolic tongue when dealing with his own House.

No. Besides the slight inconvenience of having accidentally formed a sort of friendship with one of the Golden Trio, Hermione was a great friend to have. She was intelligent, resourceful, and loyal—loyal and daring enough to break some rules while knowing the possible consequences. And just a few days ago, she had willingly offered her time and effort to find Cyrna's book for the flower without expecting anything in return. You wouldn't get _that_ with Slytherins.

Plus, partnering with Hermione made it so easy to hide her own abilities in Potions. _Yeah, t_ _here's no way I'm switching partners… and I don't think I'm the only one who feels this way._ Cyrna looked assessingly at Millicent. "How good are you at potions?"

Millicent shrugged and reluctantly grunted something along the lines of 'alright.'

"And can you guarantee an outstanding for every class?" Cyrna asked. She raised her brow skeptically. Expectantly.

Millicent's eyes snapped up to meet her own. Her eyes wide with surprise. "No, I-I don't think I can" she stammered with a slight waver when she glanced at Pansy.

Cyrna made a show of pursing her lips in subtle displeasure. "Well, you see," she said to Pansy in a rather patient voice, "I don't care for our Head of House's approval as much as I care about my grades, and I haven't been getting anything less than an outstanding with Granger as my partner. So, unless you're able to somehow convince Professor Snape to give me O's in the rest of the foreseeable future…"

Cyrna trailed off with a light shrug.

Pansy scowled in response. Though Cyrna thought, she wasn't too sure if it was because she had spurned her offer or if it was because she had lost her chance to be rid of Millicent and to have Draco all to herself.

"You're pathetic for allowing a Mudblood to help you," Pansy finally spat out after a moment of silent irritation.

 _Pathetic? Not so much, but perhaps a bit stupid for not distancing myself from Hermione before she declared friendship._

Cyrna glanced around and saw that a few students from the other houses had paused in the halls to listen in. Not surprising seeing as gossip was everything when there was a mass of adolescents expected to live in an enclosed space for years. Slowly, she pondered how a simple inquiry about the purpose of the outing had devolved into petty name-calling, but she never claimed to understand how the other Slytherin's mind worked.

More students seemed to gather in the hall after they finished their dinner, stopping to stare curiously at the group of Slytherins. Did this count as making a scene? Call it whatever you wanted, but no matter how much of an absolute bastard Snape was being to just about everyone, for her, she doubted there would ever be a moment where she would fail to respect him after knowing his story. Her admiration and fascination for him were certainly waning with every passing remark, with every scathing glare he threw at students who were just minding their own business. But respect was something rooted much deeper for her.

So ultimately, if he thought that a show of unity was important, then she would do her part.

Cyrna picked up Prince who had been huddled rather close to her leg, bristling at the onlookers. She combed through his fur softly as she smiled and stared pointedly at Draco whose eyes had been darting around, observing their growing audience. When the pair of grey eyes met hers, she broke into a light laugh. "I'm afraid this whole exchange has taken longer than I'd have liked," her eyes flashed warmly with a fond sort of gleam that took the other Slytherins by surprise. "What time is it now?"

Cyrna looked expectantly at Draco who slowly began to stir from his confusion. He blinked owlishly at Pansy who seemed just as confused as he was, if not more.

With a slash downwards with his wand and the muttered word, Draco casted the spell. "Seven-thirty," he reported on reflex. He looked at Cyrna who continued to look at him pointedly.

Daphne stared at Cyrna for a moment before her eyes lit up with understanding.

"And I rather think that if we spend any more time in this crowded place, I'll never make it to the greenhouse before curfew," Daphne sighed.

Theodore smirked slightly and nudged Draco. This seemed to break him out of whatever spell had arrested him, and he scowled lightly when he quickly placed the pieces together. "We wouldn't want to displease our Head of House," Draco muttered finally as he glanced at the other Slytherins he had arrived to meet Daphne with. With one last glare to Cyrna for being the reason he would have to step out into the cool October air and dirty his shoes, he drew himself up and strutted towards the castle doors.

"Well what are you all waiting for? The spikes aren't going to pick themselves," he said with a hint of pettishness before he yanked open the doors and began trudging on the path to the greenhouses.

Cyrna chuckled quietly at the look of distaste on Pansy's face as she shivered slightly from the gust of air that had blown in. "Curfew in an hour, so we should hurry," Cyrna added brightly as she followed Malfoy outside, trying to withhold a smile when she heard quiet moans of distress and reluctance.

She ran up to Draco who seemed rather discontent with the whole situation he found himself in.

"Hey," she found herself saying with a wide smile—she was excited to get the ingredients, and that was definitely spilling over into her overall mood.

Draco barely spared her a glance. He was sullen, she knew, probably from having to go on this outing as a show of Slytherin unity. Cyrna snorted in laughter when she heard another wave of shrieks and muttered curses when the other Slytherins realized that the ground was still rather muddy from the rain on the previous day. An especially loud girlish shriek had her grinning madly. Prince purred contentedly as he snuggled closer.

She glanced over when she heard a soft snort from the boy beside her.

"You don't think Pansy wore her favourite shoes for this, do you?" Cyrna asked.

Draco looked at her blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened with askance. "Oh dear Merlin, I hope not," he muttered. "No one in the Slytherin dorms will be sleeping tonight with all the wailing and whining if that's the case."

It was a true and proper terror that overtook his expression. So much so that Cyrna couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Draco looked at her with a hint of confusion, though not without a small smirk of amusement on his face.

"Well you should thank me for whatever Ravenclaw tendencies I have, Draco," Cyrna snickered. She slowed down her pace when she saw that Daphne and Theodore were approaching them.

"Whatever for?" Draco asked in a rather prim and condescending fashion—an imitation of Lucius for sure.

"Because I so happened to have learnt the cleaning spell a while ago when I was preparing for school. Reading ahead and everything," Cyrna said with a grin.

"Way ahead," said Theodore as he caught up with them. " _Scourgify_ is from the fourth-year text."

"And one of the most practical charms. I never really knew why they placed it for fourth years," Cyrna replied with a small gesture of confusion.

"Well, if you do successfully prevent my eardrums from splitting tonight, then you'll have my everlasting respect," Draco said dryly with a hint of skepticism.

"Oh," Cyrna hummed with a slight smile and a spark of excitement in her eyes that made Draco glance at her in trepidation. "I'll hold you to that, Draco."

Soon, the rest of the Slytherins were out and well away from the castle, and though she could feel the curious stares of the other students linger for a little longer, they too eventually faded away as they clambered over the hill towards the greenhouse.

* * *

"So, how many spikes do you need?"

"Twenty would be a solid amount to start with, I think," Cyrna answered Daphne thoughtfully.

Daphne's eyes widened in surprise. "That many?"

"Ten to practice the extraction and another ten to experiment with for the potion."

Pansy heaved an annoyed sigh. "Well I'll just wait here till you're done," she muttered as she glanced warily at the bush. The other Slytherins shifted slightly as well. Staring somewhat apprehensively at the bush.

Cyrna wanted to exclaim something along the lines of _'guys it's just a bush. A plant,'_ but she had heard the news of how a Ravenclaw had gotten their thigh skewered during their lesson. A quick visit to Madame Pomfrey had fixed the student right back up, but that didn't make the idea of getting skewered any more appealing.

Draco scowled slightly when he saw Crabbe and Goyle cowering slightly behind Pansy. "Honestly," he sneered, "you'd think by the way you're acting that you're Mudbloods or something."

With a huff he walked out into the fields. For a while, nothing seemed to happen, and Draco gained confidence. Suddenly, there came a whistling sound as a spike hurtled towards him.

"Bloody hell!"

Draco yelped as he ducked, barely avoiding the spike. He hastily followed up with an " _Incendio"_ on reflex.

Theodore and Blaise snickered quietly.

"That plant was way faster than the plant I had in our lesson," Draco snapped defensively as he cautiously picked up the spike and walked back to the group.

Cyrna had taken a step forward when the plant had fired, but seeing that Draco had reacted fast enough, she had relaxed back to watch with Daphne.

"I thought you said that they were supposed to be slower?" Cyrna whispered quietly to Daphne.

Daphne glanced at Draco sheepishly before whispering back to Cyrna. "They should be slower during the evening. Though yesterday's rain may have had some effect on it."

"Rain… and today was a relatively sunny day…" Cyrna said thoughtfully. "I guess that means that they were fed."

Daphne looked at her with a slight hint of confusion.

"Either way, Draco," Cyrna said, catching his attention. "What are we going to tell the professor when she sees that she's missing a bush tomorrow? Because I don't know how to cast _aguamenti_ to put out the fire."

The fire slowly licked up the last of the bush before it fizzled out, having devoured its target.

Draco scowled. "Damn the bush. The professor should be happy that I'm not bringing this to father."

"Don't want your dear father to know that you nearly got bested by a bush?" Blaise asked smoothly.

Draco scowled harder, about to say something when Daphne coughed and cleared her throat.

"Either way, we can't set every bush on fire just trying to get the spike, so maybe we should come back another day when it is less dangerous."

"But—"

All the Slytherins turned to stare at her. Cyrna frowned. She had waited so long for this that waiting another day just seemed far too long.

"Let me have a try first," she said as she set Prince down on the muddy ground. She straightened her posture and walked towards the field. "I'll get the other nineteen spikes by myself."

"Careful," Daphne warned.

Prince flicked his tail up in distress when he noted that it had gotten muddy. He meowed unhappily at his human who seemed intent on walking towards even muddier grounds. She ignored him. He hissed in irritation. _Honestly, the things he'd do for his human_. With a huff and an intense feeling of regret, he slid down the slope and scampered to Cyrna.

"Hey!" Daphne yelled in alarm as Prince streaked past her.

* * *

Professor Sprout had strategically planted the bushes in two columns—just far enough that their ranges would not overlap so you wouldn't have to look out for your back. Cautiously, with wand at the ready, Cyrna strolled up to the closest bush. Closer and closer she edged towards it when suddenly she felt the slight vibration in the air, seconds before she saw the spike launch from the plant.

She stepped diagonally backwards as instructed and watched as the spike hurtled straight past where she had once stood. _Definitely faster._ She was about to pick up the spike when she felt the air vibrate again. Quickly, she moved away again to watch a spike land where she had previously been.

 _Shouldn't the bush have needed thirty seconds to recover?_

Her pulse pounded quicker in surprise when she felt the air vibrate once again.

"Daphne," she yelped as she lunged diagonally forwards towards the bush as she dodged the next spike. "I don't think I'm going to have enough time to gather the spikes—"

Cyrna danced away again as another spike hurtled past her.

"—so any ideas on how to grab them? Because the bush seems to feel particularly aggressive today."

"Uh—" Daphne said, startled. She and the rest of the Slytherins had been watching with a grudging sense of admiration as Cyrna wove through the attacks with little hesitation and with seemingly little effort. The longer she watched, the more she privately thought that it was almost as if Cyrna could predict the trajectory of the spike before she moved—almost moving a split seconds before the spike actually fired… but something like that couldn't have been possible.

"My mother often summons the objects she needs to her," Draco said after a while, earning him a strange look from Pansy.

"That's another fourth-year charm," muttered Theodore.

Cyrna dodged another spike and slowly made her way backwards to get out of its range.

"Do you know the summoning charm?" Daphne hollered to Cyrna after watching her evade the thirteenth spike.

Cyrna felt her brows furrow slightly in concentration. The summoning charm… "Oh! You mean 'Accio'?"

She dodged another.

"Don't know that one, I'm afraid. Never studied the wand movement for it," she yelled back in reply.

"But you studied _scourgify_?" Draco asked skeptically. " _Accio_ is far more useful."

Cyrna hummed noncommittally as she tried to pocket another spike only to have to jump away again as another spike flew towards her. _Accio_ would definitely work, but there was a small issue with using that spell. She had yet to figure out why, but simply thinking about the object and saying the spell would summon the object straight to her hand. _Wandless magic_. Such was her affinity for _Wingardium leviosa_ and this particular spell that she had forgotten their wand movements. _Scourgify_ on the other hand, was a charm that needed the accompanied wand-work for her to cast it successfully.

Intimidating others with her magic was one thing, but whipping out wandless magic would be an unnecessary and stupid bluff, seeing as it would only work for those two spells.

"You could just burn the plant once you're done with it." Theodore suggested.

"Do we even want to know how many house points burning another would cost us?" Millicent muttered.

Draco flushed with indignance when the other Slytherins glanced sideways at him. "We'll get whatever points we lose back at Potions," he snapped. "Besides, Professor Sprout might not even notice if one or two of them are missing."

"Sure she won't notice the random gaps in her impeccably planted row of Spiky Bushes," Daphne said dryly.

Cyrna chuckled at their conversation. Though, she had to admit, burning the bush was looking more and more appealing at every moment. The air shifted again and she prepared to dodge when she noted that the tension in the air seemed to focus on a different target.

Glancing to her left, she saw a white bundle of fur streaked with muddy brown slowly dragging a spike to add to a small collection of three other spikes.

"Prince! What a marvellous idea," Cyrna muttered softly to herself with a fond smile.

Prince's ears flicked sideways when he heard his name. He looked up from what he was doing and glanced up to see his human point her stick at the air behind him. For a moment everything was still, then as if it was conjured from the air, he finally saw the spike aiming straight towards him. He yelped and cowered behind his tail when suddenly, there was an intense wave of heat as the spike abruptly burst into flames mid-air. He sneezed quietly when the ashes rained down from the sky and glanced thankfully at his human who looked at him with a hint of pride.

Confidently, he shook off the ashes from his fur and headed for his next spike.

The Slytherins watched, stunned.

"You know," Daphne said finally, "I'm placing my claim on her to be my partner if we ever have to do pair duels next year."

"Suit yourself," Pansy said faintly.

"I will," Daphne muttered as she ran towards a spike that lay a distance from the pile that Prince was building. "Hey, Cyrna!" Daphne called, "watch my back for me while I grab your spikes."

Cyrna sidestepped the nineteenth spike that the plant had fired at her. This was it. This was all she needed.

She turned back to Daphne and was taken aback. Her smile was wild. Free. Not the tight-lipped ones or the polite ones Cyrna often saw. _She genuinely wants to help_ , Cyrna thought with amazement. _Possibly without asking for anything in return._

"With pleasure," Cyrna called back, still somewhat stunned by her behaviour.

She snapped a quick _incendio_ at a spike that was heading in her direction then another when she sensed one hurtling towards Daphne.

Daphne felt the swell of heat before she even had the chance to see the spike that had been heading towards her. She must have shown some of her awe or admiration on her face when she met Cyrna's glance because her friend's crystal eyes widened before she winked at her playfully. Daphne felt a small grin take over her face, so she ducked her head down and wordlessly headed for the next spike. Soon, Prince's pile grew and Theodore came down to help them carry the spikes up the hill.

* * *

It was now nearing curfew. The moon had arisen as the pink evening sky gave way to darker tones of blues and blacks. The stars emerged, twinkling softly as they hung in the sky. The group of Slytherins walked peaceably back to the castle, exhausted and ready to shower and sleep. At the tall oaken doors, Cyrna stiffened at attention when she saw a shift of movement in the shadows.

"Imagine my surprise when one of the prefects told me that all of my first-years had gone frolicking about an hour or so before curfew near the greenhouses like a bunch of foolhardy Gryffindors." The smooth baritone voice came from the shadows. Each word dripped coldly with disapproval.

"Pr-professor Snape," Draco said nervously. He cleared his throat and said more confidently, "It was an outing to improve house unity."

All the Slytherins held their breaths when the figure stepped out from the shadows. The darkness enunciated his hooked nose as he glared severely down at them. Snape met each of their eyes evenly before he wandlessly casted tempus.

The students relaxed slightly. They had made it back before curfew. Barely. But they did. They tensed again when their Professor lifted his eyes from the time. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and the time faded.

"You have five minutes to get to the dormitory."

He spoke very softly, but there was not a single person that did not hear him. Instantly, everyone dropped whatever pretense or decorum they had and sprinted as if their life was on the line to the dungeons below.

Cyrna would have followed if not for the sound of her name being called. She halted as she reluctantly turned back to face the professor.

"This is the second time you've nudged the boundaries of curfew, Ms. Raine. Rules are here for a reason," Snape said with a scowl. "Did the incident the other time tell you nothing about wandering out in the evening?"

Cyrna shifted uncomfortably. "I brought more people this time," she answered. The reason sounding stupid even to her.

"And you think that would have stopped whatever beast is out there that is killing the unicorns?" Snape hissed softly.

Nope it definitely wouldn't have stopped Voldemort, but she doubted he would have attacked in the first place—not that she could say that. So, she hung her head and remained silent.

"Reckless, foolhardy. Have you _no_ sense of self-preservation?"

 _Only too much to the point where I think it makes me a terrible person._ Cyrna kept her silence though she flinched slightly at his tone.

Snape sighed and Cyrna tentatively looked up to see him pinch his nose in tiredness or irritation. _Probably the latter_ , Cyrna thought somewhat glumly. He was not someone she had meant to disappoint.

"I had better not see you, with or without company, again, out in the evening before this whole matter is settled," he said severely.

"Yes, sir."

Snape levelled one last glare at her before sweeping into the castle. Cyrna followed him quietly, feeling rather scolded. They walked quietly down the dungeons in silence till they approached the door to the Slytherin common room. Suddenly, the professor stopped abruptly and turned towards her. "The prefect told me that you went to harvest spikes at the greenhouse?"

Cyrna examined his expression and decided that she couldn't tell whether he was happy or angry at that fact. "Yes, sir. I collected twenty."

"What for?" Snape drawled, raising a brow, as if he was simply humouring her interest.

She frowned, feeling slightly offended. "I wanted to practice extracting the emulsion."

His eyes narrowed. "That is third-year material, Ms. Raine. What could you possibly need that knowledge for?"

Cyrna blinked in confusion. "I thought the wound-cleaning potion was one of the potions I would learn later this year."

"Indeed, but first-years are given the emulsion to work with. They aren't required to perform the extraction."

Snape studied his Slytherin carefully. One hand held her blasted cat, and the other tightly gripped a bag which he was sure was filled with spikes. Her crystal eyes stared back at him somewhat defiantly as her hand on her bag tightened again.

"Those spikes are not to be handled by a first-year alone, so you will turn them in to me now—"

"—sir—" she protested.

"—or you will meet with me in the potions room for your next five lunch breaks where I will supervise your extraction. If you are successful, I will allow you to keep the rest of the spikes. Otherwise, you will return them to Professor Sprout."

Cyrna's eyes widened. The offer was incredibly tempting. But hadn't she already decided that she would stay away from him? Dealing with and lying to the Golden Trio and Malfoy was one thing—they were ultimately still children. But she doubted she would be able to hide anything from Snape given enough time. He was far too clever.

At the same time, what incriminating evidence could he possibly find in the five hours of lunch break?

"I…" Cyrna hesitated, weighing reason against desire.

Snape stared impassively at her for a long moment before his gaze turned somewhat dismissive and he held out his hand for the bag. _Why did I think that someone with such magic potential would turn to the subtle art of potions?_

"The bag, Ms. Raine," he hissed. Somewhat irritated and disappointed.

Cyrna floundered for a moment before she slowly raised the bag to the outstretched hand. Then she paused. The flicker of disappointment in the eyes of her professor was brief, but she had seen it. How many times had she disappointed him in the one month and couple weeks she had been at Hogwarts?

She didn't know, but she had certainly spurned him, accidentally mind you, the last time he had saved her from what could have devolved into a rather dangerous encounter with Quirrell. She didn't even remember thanking him after that whole incident. Her eyes widened. _I owe him_. She smiled a bit, now realizing that she had a valid reason to give into her temptation. Well, he _was_ one of the last people she wanted to disappoint and, as she had thought before, nothing too bad could happen in a measly five hours.

Quickly, she jerked her hand back before she could rethink her decision, and she watched as surprise filtered into his eyes. She knew she looked rather silly right now with the huge grin on her face—something extremely out of character from the serious and quiet demeanor she usually presented to the professors—but she couldn't help it.

Learning Potions from the Flamels _and_ the Half-Blood Prince? What a positively salivating idea. The inner Ravenclaw that had once reigned in her childhood reared its head up for a moment.

But a moment was all that was needed.

"I'll see you tomorrow at lunch then, professor," she chirped, excitement thrumming in her every word. "Goodnight!"

With a rap on the correct stone and the spoken password, Cyrna practically skipped into the common room and into the dormitory, forgetting in her bliss that she hadn't technically been dismissed yet.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know I've spent a decent amount of chapters on year one (and I'm not really even at the Halloween point yet). I've kind of been taking a more exploratory/detailed experience through the book, but I'm starting to wonder if I should speed it up?

I'll probably try to get to the Halloween event in two chapters or so.

Feel free to leave any criticism or comments :)

Thanks for reading!


	18. Charms

A/N: Huge thanks to the guest reviewer for pointing out the error. The correct chapter has been uploaded :)

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Charms**

Three long, narrow tables wrapped around the semicircular walls of the Charms classroom with each row elevated in a step-like fashion before the previous row. The professor's desk was situated in the middle of the room, just perfectly placed so that every student would be able to see whatever charm he was demonstrating.

Cyrna sat at the end of the second row nearest to one of tall arched windows of the Charms classroom. The morning sunlight streamed in brightly through the glass, and she could see the tiny dust particles suspended in the air as they twinkled and winked in and out of sight, adding to the quiet, rustic beauty of the castle. Presently, there was little sound in the room besides that of the diminutive professor busying himself around his desk. She watched impassively as he clambered over several strategically placed stacks of books to get onto his chair. Once he was on, he appeared rather harried, quickly checking over all his notes—not that he really needed to do so. His lessons were entertaining and educational in their entirety. Unlike the strict or intimidating characters of Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, his charisma was of the rather joyful and quirky sort. Most students, even those from her own house, listened eagerly to his lectures with a small smile on their lips as he prattled on excitedly about the charm and its counter-charm.

Daphne strolled calmly through the door and gave her a tiny wave before she settled in the more shadowed area of the room. Theodore soon appeared, and after giving her a curt nod, went to sit beside Daphne.

Her inkpot and quill rested beside her 8-inch essay on the charm, _Alohomora_ , and its counter-charm, _Colloportus_. It had been rather easy for her. By now, if she still did not know how to research and paraphrase… well, she would happily renounce whatever achievements she had accomplished in her past life. However, she supposed that for first-years, the length was daunting enough to warrant two weeks worth of time to write it.

More students began to fill the empty wooden seats in the classroom as the clock approached nine. The Hufflepuffs in front of her chattered quietly about the newest candy being sold at Honeydukes while another group across the room seemed to be talking about the essay. Personally, she had not heard any murmur in the Slytherin common room about the essay, so she could only assume that the rest of the House had not encountered any difficulties writing it or getting an upper-year to write it for them.

Flitwick cleared is throat when the bell chimed at nine. "All right class," he squeaked with excitement as he stood on his chair, "please hand in your essay when I call your name for attendance!"

She heard a sigh from the row above her. "Cyrna, how do you possibly arrive early for every single Charms class?" Draco asked as he flopped down onto the desk after handing in his essay.

 _Strange. Where did my daily caustic remark go?_

"The same way everyone in Slytherin makes it to Potions fifteen minutes before class starts every Friday morning, I suppose," Cyrna said as she glanced suspiciously at Draco who muffled into his arm something along the lines of 'that's Snape so it's different.'

Pansy scoffed and without glancing at her, rolled her eyes. _Very strange_. She scrunched her brows in slight confusion. "Are you two feeling okay?" she asked hesitantly.

Draco just shot her a look of utter confusion, but Pansy's response that her state was "in no way thanks to your pathetic outing last night" was much more comforting. Feeling that her world was a step back to normal, she turned back to the front of the class.

"Ms. Raine!" Professor Flitwick squeaked when she handed over her essay. "As excellent as the previous ones, I should hope?" he asked happily.

"I should hope so as well, sir," she answered politely.

Cyrna settled back onto her seat. A particularly bright, cheerful laugh caught her attention, and she glanced curiously at the group of Hufflepuffs that were sitting beside her. It wasn't strange, per say, that they chose to sit beside a Slytherin. After all, there was no tension between the Hufflepuff and Slytherin House—or really, between Hufflepuff and _any_ house. They were far too kind, friendly and gentle for that to happen; and it was for these exact reasons that Cyrna often found herself avoiding them.

They were so frustratingly sympathetic. _A favour for a favour_ was one of her core morals, if you will. Without sympathy or a care for really anything, it was tiny things like this that kept her seeming normal. The Hufflepuffs she had met didn't seem to understand this. They gave, gave, and gave some more; refusing to accept anything she offered in return unless they thought that her help was something she genuinely desired, from the bottom of her heart, to give—and that was the problem. She never _truly_ desired to help; she saw it more as a duty and a responsibility to fulfill; once it was done, she could gladly move on from the incident or relationship.

She simply couldn't understand them, nor did she desire to. How could she learn sympathy from creatures that seemed as if they were made to live and breathe it? It would be like asking them why the sky was blue or why chlorophyll preferred to absorb red and blue light but reflect green—it just _was_. She couldn't understand, so she stayed away.

"Having written these essays," Professor Flitwick held up the papers, "I know that every single one of you has a basic understanding of the charm _'Alohomora._ '" He gave the papers a slight wave. "So today, we will spend the lesson practicing the charm."

The professor hopped off the desk and landed in the center of the room. "Now watch and listen carefully!" In a flash the wand slid into his hands and he slowly drew a circle with his wand. Just before completion, he slashed his wand downwards. The wand sparked, but without the spoken word and intention behind the magic, the charm did not activate. He brought out a lock and held it up for people to see. "The same motion, but quicker. Then speak the word."

" _Alohomora!_ "

A soft click echoed through the silent room, and the students grinned at each other in excitement.

"Now this charm, as I'm sure you've all read, is used for getting past locked doors discreetly. There isn't too much of a place for this spell when it comes to duelling, but nevertheless, it can be useful and is one of the simplest charms to cast—"

The Hufflepuff beside her raised her hand.

"—Ms. Bones?"

"But I saw my aunt cast spells that had less… less..."

"Wandwork?" said a Hufflepuff boy sitting two seats away from her.

"Yes! Wandwork! It looked so much simpler and easier too!"

Professor Flitwick brightened up considerably. "5 points to Hufflepuff for your inquisitive mind. Does anyone know the answer?"

Cyrna listened curiously. She had read a decent amount of books on the subject of charms, but never had she wondered what classified a charm as difficult.

"No?" Flitwick asked when the class remained in silent attention. "Well, _alohomora_ is considered one of the simplest spells because it doesn't need too much magic or control for it to work. Say, for a spell like _Wingardium leviosa,_ " he said as he pointed his wand at the lock which began to float, "you need a certain amount of control over your magic."

"If you feed a bit too much magic—" the lock shot up into the air and flew in a sporadic path till it hit the ceiling with a loud ' _bang_.' Cracks formed on the ceiling as the lock embedded itself there. Bits of dust and chips of stone rained down on the gaping class who watched with wide eyes.

The professor lowered the lock to rest gently on his palm.

"Or if there is too little magic—" the lock wobbled and rolled around on his palm but did not lift into the air. "—then you won't get the desired result." Professor Flitwick finished as he cast the spell again, but this time, allowing it to bob gently in the air a head above him.

Then the fourth-year spells… Cyrna wondered as the class watched in fascination. She raised her hand and caught the professor's eye.

"Ms. Raine?"

"So it's not the complexity of the wand movements but rather your magical power and your ability to control it that makes a particular charm difficult?"

"3 points to Slytherin for a fantastic follow-up question! Well… saying yes or no to that question wouldn't be completely accurate." He hummed in thought. "Complexity of the wand-work often does have a relationship with the difficulty of the charm, yes. So it's not like you can ignore that factor. As for magical power, once you hit a certain level, you will be able to perform even the most complex charms as long as you have excellent control over your magic. I'd say that control is by far the most important factor to focus on—just my opinion as a Charms Master, of course."

The class murmured quietly to themselves.

"But you can't say that power has _no_ place in duels," Draco said.

"Raise your hand before you speak, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick twittered, "but yes, it does have its place." The professor frowned a bit. "When it comes to head-on collisions of spells, the difference of power could indeed decide victory from defeat, but power can always be crippled by a well-placed spell; one should never rely on power alone."

Draco raised his hand, and the professor nodded at him to continue.

"But what if you had _a lot_ of power?" Draco pushed.

Professor Flitwick eyed Draco for a moment in thought. "Theoretically," he said slowly, "a lot of power alone would allow you to rise above many others. It is possible to simply force a charm to activate, given enough power. Such power _and_ control would place you at the very top."

Draco smirked, and the other Slytherins had a faint smile playing on their lips.

"But, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Flitwick spoke quietly as he stared directly at Draco, "If ever someone was to obtain that much power, the individual should be very wary for power has proven again and again its propensity to corrupt."

Draco stared back nonplussed.

Flitwick sighed and turned back to the rest of the class. "Perhaps what I said might be a bit to hard for you children to understand, but you would do well to remember it."

Professor Flitwick sighed when he heard the quiet snickering of the Slytherins. His eyes quickly found the Slytherin that always sat quietly by the same window and was gratified to see that she was staring at him thoughtfully. Meeting his eyes, she quickly looked down at her desk.

Cyrna Raine. Apart from Severus, who seemed as unenthused as usual and acted as if life itself was a mere annoyance, all the teachers had imitated his feelings of excitement and apprehension after her little demonstration at the sorting. The sheer force of untrained magic that coiled in the air—almost tangible; it was enough to put everyone on alert. Her magic could not compare to any adult wizards by far, but it was greater than most of the older students in the school. Her sorting into Slytherin… Flitwick shivered. It was almost as if he was watching the past replay itself. She was so similar to _him._ In their first year, both had been intelligent, quiet, curious, unfailingly polite. They both had a sense of purpose… both hid a secret that he sometimes thought he could see in their shrew gazes.

It had come with a mixed sense of relief and disappointment when he had found her to be average. Oh, her essays were easily some of the best he had ever read from a first year, but her charmwork... she was so stunningly _average_ at Charms. Well, perhaps this was for the best.

He cast a 'reparo' at the ceiling and within seconds, it was back to normal. He clapped twice and once he had everyone's attention, he waved his wand and a lock appeared in front of every student.

"Now let's practice the unlocking charm for the rest of the class!"

* * *

As she had done in every lesson, Cyrna carefully made tiny mistakes here and there. For ten minutes, the lock just sat there without a twitch. When she saw the Hufflepuff beside her glance at her with concern, she used a bit more magic, causing the lock to shiver a bit before stilling.

Five minutes later, a tiny click was heard in the classroom.

"Perfect job, Mr. Nott," Flitwick congratulated Theodore cheerfully. "5 points to Slytherin for being the first in this class to cast the charm successfully."

Cyrna turned back to her work and allowed a stronger shiver to course through the lock as the Professor passed by. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to gain the professor's attention. He continued on when he stopped abruptly and doubled back. "Oh my!" he exclaimed when he saw the lock from the Hufflepuff beside her shudder violently. "You've almost got it, Ms. Bones! Give it another try!"

The girl beamed gratefully at the professor as she followed his order. " _Alohomora."_ The lock shuddered violently again, but it remained locked. She frowned slightly in disappointment.

"Control. Not more power," Flitwick advised. "Focus you magic on a single intent then speak the words and draw the motion." With that said, he walked on with a small happy bounce in his step.

 _Focus your magic on a single intent?_ Cyrna frowned thoughtfully at her lock. The basics of wandless magic that Perenelle had taught her had not been how to cast spells but how to visualize, hide, and suppress magic. Perenelle had been rather insistent about this, stating over and over again that having that much uncontrolled magic around children was dangerous, not to mention it would attract unneeded attention to herself.

 _Oh, she'll will be so angry when she learns that I sacrificed all her teachings in a split-moment decision during my sorting._

Catching the Hufflepuff beside her glance at her strangely, she gave another half-hearted wave of her wand. The lock wobbled then stilled.

Perenelle had later demonstrated—after with much pleading and begging—just what it was about wandless and wordless magic that made it so difficult. The success that she experienced with _Accio_ and _Wingardium Leviosa_ was the exception rather than the norm. Even then, Cyrna doubted that her success could be attributed to her ability. She certainly didn't think that she had been able to control her magic to such precision. All she had done was silently call for the object, and it had flown straight towards her.

 _Click_

"I did it!"

As if summoned, Professor Flitwick came scurrying from the third row to the second. "Ms. Bones, excellent work. 4 points for Hufflepuff for being the second to successfully cast the charm!"

"Thank you, professor!" she exclaimed. She turned around with a delighted laugh and exchanged a high-five with her friend that sat beside her.

The Hufflepuff beside Cyrna had a beautiful tone of blonde hair. Her honey-blonde locks tied up in a very practical ponytail shimmered warmly as the light caught it. Her friend, on the other hand, had left her pale blond hair out in a gorgeous free-flowing wave.

"Susan, you've _got_ to teach me how to do this charm," the lighter blond said with a note of exasperation.

 _Click_

"Ernie! You too?" the girl exclaimed as Professor Flitwick awarded 3 more points for Hufflepuffs.

"Just keep at it, Hannah," the blond-haired boy said from beside the girl. "I'll help. Let's see you do it again?"

 _So they're Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, and Ernest Macmillan_ , Cyrna thought as she glanced at the group of Hufflepuffs beside her with new interest.

Another five minutes later, several clicks could be heard in the classroom along with exclamations of relief and excitement.

"Finally," Draco muttered as he tossed his lock away from him. "How is yours going, Pansy?"

"Almost," she muttered before she smirked with satisfaction at the soft sound of the lock clicking open. "And I've got it."

"Well at least this charm might be fun to play around with when I go home for the Christmas holidays," Draco said. "I've always wondered why father kept certain rooms in our manor locked."

Cyrna was pretty sure she could guess what was in them.

"I don't think you'd be able to open them with such a simple charm, Draco." Pansy frowned. "The locks for those rooms aren't that simple—one time I touched a door that my father told me not to, and I was petrified for Merlin knows how long."

"Really?" Draco asked, eyes wide.

"My father was really angry with me after," Pansy muttered quietly.

Draco made a noncommittal sound in reply. The thought of disappointing his father outweighing his curiosity by far.

Several more clicks sounded twenty minutes before the end of class. Professor Flitwick went around the room, checking off the names of the students who had performed the charm. Cyrna supposed that it would be a good time for her name to be marked. Any later, and she might be considered to be below average.

 _Hm. Intent was it?_ Glancing curiously at her lock, she called back enough magic to appear like an average witch her age. Slowly, she wove the silver strands back into her core. The comfortable haze of magic surrounding her all but vanished, leaving a sparse number of strands to float lazily in the air around her; with each strand hoarded back into her core, the colder and colder the world appeared. The sense of elation that she had not realise she was feeling disappeared.

 _Grounded_ — _like a bird with clipped wings… so that is how normality feels after having tasted power._

With a small sigh, she waved her wand and murmured the charm.

The lock did not even twitch. Cyrna frowned slightly. _Could it have just been my magic forcing spells to work? … but—_

Suddenly, she felt a tentative tap on her arm.

"I think you have to really, like _really_ , want it to work."

Cyrna looked up with surprise to see Susan staring at her encouragingly.

She looked at the lock again, and this time, imagined the gears turning inside it and the soft click it would make when it opened. She held that image in her mind and desired it to happen.

" _Alohomora._ "

The lock shivered.

Oh there was absolutely _no_ way she was going to be the last—or even anywhere near the last. She focused harder on the desired outcome and watched a several strands of her magic flew from the tip of her wand towards the lock.

 _Click._

 _I did it._ She breathed a quiet sigh of relief then frowned when she realized she would have to take some time to relearn the spells properly. Hearing suppressed sounds of excitement from her side, she turned towards the Hufflepuff who was now grinning brightly.

"Thank you," Cyrna said.

"No problem," she said with a cheery grin. "I'm Susan, by the way."

"Cyrna," she answered with a small smile. The Hufflepuff looked slightly nervous, but happy nonetheless. Her round cheeks, which still hadn't lost their baby fat, was brushed with a faint red. Her large eyes were brown, and they held the warmth that one would expect from her house. Now, Cyrna would say that her memory of the Harry Potter series was rather decent. But seeing as how Susan had not had that many appearances in the books, she had made for a rather forgettable character overall.

Basically, Cyrna had no idea what she wanted to do with her… and the way she was grinning at her so guilelessly…

"Well, thanks for you help again, Susan. If you ever think you need help with another subject, just let me know." With that said, Cyrna turned back to her work, being purposefully dismissive. Hopefully the Hufflepuff would let the conversation drop and not attempt some sort of friendship with her. With her assumed friendship with Harry, Hermione, Daphne, and possibly Ron—not to mention the rest of the Slytherin House to deal with—she really didn't want to invest time in something or someone else.

"Oh… Okay."

Susan turned back awkwardly to her friends, uncertain as to what she thought about the Slytherin sitting next to her. Cyrna had seemed nice in the beginning, then suddenly, she had found herself in a strange sort of business-deal-like situation. It was rather off-putting.

Susan relented when Hannah pulled gently on her ear to tug her closer.

"Why did you talk to her?" her friend whispered curiously.

Susan glanced at the Slytherin who had succeeded in opening the lock again—much faster this time too. The Malfoy boy glanced at her and sneered before leaning down and muttering something to Cyrna with an approving smirk on his face, only for her to roll her eyes and ignore him.

"Just wondering who she is," Susan whispered back. "Don't you remember seeing her all the time in the library—"

"—with the Gryffindor know-it-all?" Hannah finished.

Susan nodded emphatically. "Isn't it interesting? Like, my aunt told me that those two houses didn't like each other. And Harry talks to her too!"

"He does?" Hannah asked with a bit of surprise as she glanced at the Slytherin in question. "Well, do you think she's nice?"

"Um, she's—"

"She's a slight bit rude, _I_ think," Ernie joined in with a whisper. "She should have thanked you for your help better!" he said defensively, thinking of her rather lackluster gratitude for Susan's help.

"Well, she said thanks twice," Hannah pipped up.

"Not very sincerely, I don't think," Ernie grumbled. "But then again," he gave a small shrug, his annoyance disappearing, "I guess they all take after their Head of House. Nothing but indifference and the occasional look of disdain when, or if, they talk to the other Houses."

"Yeah, I don't think she's _rude_ ," Susan whispered quietly. "from what I've seen, she just so… so polite all the time! So polite to the point where she seems a bit…" Susan frowned, unable to put her finger on the word.

"Cold?" Ernie suggested.

Hannah smacked him gently on the arm. "Don't be so mean, Ernie!" she scolded lightly. "She's just a bit closed, I think."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Ernie asked with a small pout.

"No!" the girls chorused with a small giggle as the tiny bronze bell on Flitwick's desk rang loudly.

Cyrna reluctantly packed away her items, not particularly looking forward to her next class.

"And remember!" Flitwick called, "There will be a small quiz about the levitation charm on Monday. Then, on Wednesday, we'll practice the charm on feathers!"


	19. Grips of the Past

**Chapter 19: Grips of the Past**

He instantly sensed the change in her magic before she stepped into the room. A small twitch of the eyebrow was all that betrayed his surprise, but even then, he reigned back his expression into one that had served him well in all his years of living. Emptiness. It was hard to read someone if they gave you nothing to look at, nothing to critique. It worked well to hide his thoughts, and it did a fair job of intimidating the little miscreants that ran amok the castle grounds. But this student was a Slytherin—no matter her poor choice of company—intimidation was not his goal.

He set his quill down firmly, and lacing his fingers together by habit, he studied the student who had entered his room not a minute early, or a minute late. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny as all the little dunderheads of the school did but didn't seem particularly distressed or harmed in any way. So she had voluntarily recalled her magic in the same way she had called forth her magic during her sorting.

It was an advanced technique to control how much magic you chose to reveal, but strangely, Albus had seemed unruffled by this. Seeing this, the other professors followed his lead and didn't look any deeper into the incident.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said, a hint of discomfort leaking into her voice.

It was nice to know that he could intimidate her to some degree despite the aloofness that she often portrayed.

Carefully, he hid his smirk and inclined his head towards the table that he had set up for her. There lay her spikes and an array of knives of different materials and length. He had healing potions on hand as things were sure to get a bit bloody before the blasted girl gave up the notion of trying to learn material that were two years above her level. He just hoped that she wouldn't be careless enough to sever a digit from her body. Poppy would give him hell for that.

"I needn't remind you of the consequences if you were to damage the equipment, Ms. Raine?"

"No, sir."

He watched her carefully as her gaze darted across the selection of knives, cold and analytical as they evaluated which would be the best choice for the task. It was uncanny in its seriousness, just as it had been yesterday when her eyes glowed for a moment in the darkness of the dungeons with a sort of delight that seemed far beyond what a child should feel in that situation.

"Sir, may I work with this knife?"

Blue eyes peered hesitantly into his as she held a knife that was about the size of a very small butter knife.

"If it was prohibited, then you can be most certain that you would not have found it in the first place, Ms. Raine, no matter how hard you searched."

She stiffened at his response, a hint of rose colouring her cheeks as she averted her gaze. Well, no matter if she was a Slytherin, he had no inclination to entertain inane questions during his lunch break. Being forced to do so during classes were bad enough. With a small flick of his wrist, the rest of the knives packaged itself neatly into a case and returned to his desk. "You may begin."

Despite his response, he was intrigued. A first-year shouldn't have known how to use a scalpel, and from her expression, she had been very careful with her choice of knife. A scalpel wasn't difficult to use, per say, but it did require greater finesse than what the younger miscreants were capable of providing. From time to time, he glanced at his Slytherin. Curiousity captivating his attention, he couldn't look away for any more than a few moments.

The girl softly brushed the thin handle of the knife with her thumb, a wistful smile playing on her lips. Grabbing one of the spikes, she experimentally ran the blade from the base of the spike to its tip, not forceful enough to cut, just to make a light scratch on the spike's surface. Her movements paused; her eyes suddenly took a distanced expression as her shoulders tightened into a more rigid stance. A brief moment later, she gently set the scalpel back onto the table. Then, her eyes fell shut. A ripple of emotions flashed through her face.

If he had been incompetent at observing and understanding the nuances of emotions that played on a person's face, he would not have lived past the first war. What he had seen, the tightening of her stance as her eyes lost focus was something that reminded him eerily of himself whenever he delved into his past memories. Splotches of bright joyful yellows overlaid with tones of rose and blues. Then greys. Lots of greys as life continued, till the present, when the world appeared almost as a monochrome with the occasional spark of red whenever he saw the Potter boy. He pinched the bridge of his nose and withheld a frustrated sigh as he clamped down hard on this thought. Drawing his occlumency barrier tighter, he pushed the thought away. Either way, those emotions were not something he should have seen in a child, especially a child who had a loving family based on her student record. Though her behaviour, the way Quirrell seemed fascinated by her, and her skill at cloaking her magic were all undeniably strange…

He hesitated only for a brief moment before he silently mouthed the spell:

 _"Finite Incantatem"_

A pin drop silence as he held his breath. Then almost instantly, Cyrna's eyes flew open. Darting around the classroom in a frantic and useless search before coming to rest on him. Her mouth opened and closed. A small frown marred her usual unexpressive face. Blinking slowly in confusion, she took one more glance around the room before coming back to him.

"Professor?" she said after a moment of hesitation.

"Anytime now would be appreciated, Ms. Raine," he said succinctly with a look of slight irritation.

"Sorry what?"

He raised a brow.

"Sorry what, sir?" she corrected hastily.

His spell returned negative. Not surprising at all, considering that they would have to be an idiot to use a charm that could be broken so easily by the general counter-charm. But at this time, there were no further actions he could take with his suspicions without permission from the Headmaster.

"I hope you haven't come here to waste my time," he said with a sharp indication to the time. As slowly and subtly as possible, he withdrew his magic. "If you are not serious in your attempt, I will gladly remove the spikes from your possession immediately."

"I'm serious—" Cyrna frowned as she felt the foreign presence slowly fade from the room. Even with her training with Perenelle, she couldn't sense what the magic had been attempting to do. She had felt it as it gently brushed against her own magic. It lingered for a moment, neither warm nor cold, before it seemed to melt off her and disappear. "Wait, did you—"

Snape's blank expression edging on impatience made her halt in her words. At her hesitance, he lifted his brow higher. He was the only other person in the room, but just by the way he was staring at her, Cyrna was beginning to question her sanity as to whether she had truly felt the foreign magic in the first place. Personally, she hoped it was him, and not some unaccounted guest, Quirrell for example, that had lingered outside the Potions room to cast the spell.

"Um," she hesitated.

"Don't dawdle," he said snappily, "if you have changed your mind about this whole thing then simply say so, and you are free to go."

"Sorry, sir, I'll get started now." She glanced curiously at him once more before she turned back to her work.

Without hesitation, she picked up the knife and moved it to the base of the spike. This time, she placed more force on her finger, causing the blade to dig deeper into the spike. With a swift motion of her arm, she made the first slice. The blade travelled through with ease, and when she lifted the blade, he could see the flawlessly straight line she had carved. Thirty minutes flew by, and despite her failure at properly skinning the outer layer of the spike, she had shown far more mastery over the scalpel than he had expected. Her small hands sometimes would fumble mid cut, resulting in an incorrect puncture, and he would hear her curse at her hands quietly before she sighed in resignation. But at least she hadn't cut herself by accident yet.

In the end, he hadn't had to waste a single drop of his potions on his student.

"I presume you'll be back tomorrow?"

"Of course, sir," she said respectfully as she hovered near the foot of the door.

He continued to mark the next essay, letting her stew in her nervousness a bit longer. He smirked to himself when he heard her shifting hesitantly at the door, uncertain as to whether she should interrupt him or leave. Finally, with a few minutes till his next class, he decided to address her.

"Is there any particular reason as to why you are still here, Ms. Raine?" he asked snidely.

"Not to say it was you, sir," she jumped to say immediately, rather clumsily he might add, "but did you feel… a different sort of presence for a moment near the start of the lunch break?"

Snape kept his face perfectly blank. "Ms. Raine, it was just you and me in the room, disregarding the portraits of course."

"Right, so if it wasn't me…" she muttered, confusion overtaking her features for a moment as she scrutinized his expression which gave nothing away besides slight annoyance. Cyrna shook her head a bit, "sorry, sir. It's nothing. Thank you for your time. I'll be back tomorrow."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement to her before he waved his wand, slamming the door shut.

* * *

"Headmaster, I'm telling you—"

"Severus," Albus said firmly, halting his staff's argument. His eyes still sparkled mischievously, but there was an edge of seriousness that caught Snape's attention. "I am fully aware that she might appear a bit strange, but I must ask you not to investigate this matter further. Her background will be revealed to you in good time, my boy."

Snape scowled at the term of endearment.

"So you know of Ms. Raine's—" he paused to find a word –"situation?"

"I know what is necessary." Albus replied enigmatically. He chuckled lightly at the look of disbelief his Potions Master shot him. "But, mostly, I trust my friend's judgement of character." His eyes twinkled fondly as he leaned forward in a whisper. "Why I'd even say that he's quite a bit more paranoid than you and Alastor combined, and though he'd never admit it, his wife has told me that he's grown quite fond of her."

Snape raised his brow in skepticism. "I find it hard to believe that someone could be more paranoid than Moody."

A wheezing laugh filled the room. "Alastor would be delighted to hear that." Dumbledore sniffed in laughter before quieting down. "And how is Quirrell?"

"Nothing besides the incidence with Ms. Raine that I have told you about. And consistent to the start of the school year, he remains uncommonly interested in Mr. Potter and Ms. Raine—but every professor is in some academic capacity interested in Ms. Raine, and Mr. Potter _is_ the new celebrity," he ended his thought with a sneer.

Albus stared deeply at him, a slight reprimand in his eyes.

Snape looked away with a thunderous scowl.

"Do not forget your promise, Severus."

There was a swirl of black as Snape swept out the door of the Headmaster's office. "I couldn't even if I wanted to," he snapped. The fleeting emerald green that filled his mind would never let him forget.

* * *

Despite his suspicions on her character, he found her presence relatively tolerable compared to the other dunderheads in the school, even relaxing to some extent. She worked quietly and efficiently, and the speed at which she learnt from her errors without his help was frankly admirable.

"I hadn't realized that you were so familiar with the scalpel, Ms. Raine," Snape said near the end of their third session when he caught her staring balefully at her hands as if they had wronged her somehow. She had almost skinned the entire spike, and at the rate she was going, she would probably be successful in performing the extraction by the end of their five sessions. It really brought the incompetence of his current third-years to a new light.

"I guess I could say I once had to practice quite often with a knife that looked similar to this one." Cyrna gave a lopsided smile. "I thought that I had forgotten how to use it, but as some people say, some things you learn will stay with you forever."

"And what childish pursuit did you perform to polish your knifework? No deeds you have done that would require me to… report to the ministry?" he drawled, eyes glinting slightly with reluctant amusement.

"I don't recall practicing on people, no," Cyrna answered dryly. "But I may have done so in a past life."

An eyebrow went up. "And what do you think you were in your past life?" he asked, allowing his attention to divert for a moment from the headache of the paper in front of him.

The girl smirked. To his surprise, her eyes which were usually blank and expressionless lit up with a hint of mischief that she often reserved solely for Daphne or the Gryffindor fools. She pulled her eyebrows together, scrunching them in a childish, over-dramatized fashion.

"I suppose I could have been a butcher, or maybe even one of the most dangerous murderers that had to be thrown into the darkest cell of Azkaban." Her hand went to her chin in a thoughtful pose.

His brow to climb even further to his hairline.

"Or maybe!" she exclaimed with exaggerated excitement, "Maybe I was one of those boring muggle doctors that my mom has told me about!"

Snape rolled his eyes derisively before they could crinkle with amusement. Let the other professors worry over her as a potential repeat of the Dark Lord. As long as she was in his house, he would not allow that to happen. "All right, enough of this inanity," he said with a clipped tone. "Get back to work. Need I remind you that only two days remain for you to perfect the extraction?"

The girl smiled at him, seemingly unruffled by his change of tone. She nodded and the crystal blue eyes which had shone with mischief vanished as they turned their attention back to the work on her desk.

* * *

" _Wingardium leviosa!"_

The feather in front of her floated up immediately to her call. The struggle she had with this charm was non-existent, a stark contrast to the other charms she had practiced with her new amount of magic.

"Oh, an excellent job, Ms. Raine!" Flitwick squeaked after a stunned moment. "5 points to Slytherin!"

Cyrna stiffened slightly when the other students in the class glanced at her curiously. She hadn't meant to make it float, but it seemed that just a fading thought of what the spell did was enough to activate this charm for her.

"Good job today on finishing first today in Charms," Daphne whispered once they had settled down in the DADA classroom.

"Thanks," Cyrna said with a small smile. "It's just because I practiced it ahead of time."

Daphne clucked her tongue in playful reprimand. "Why would I not be surprised to see you flying blue colours one day?"

Quirrell began the lesson on Gytrashes and their fear of the wand-lighting charm, lumos. He stuttered his way through, and on the occasional times he would glance up from the textbook he was reading, his eyes would dart around nervously before he continued his lecture.

"His stutter is worse than usual today," Draco sneered.

The Slytherins snickered quietly.

"You'd think was nervous about something with the way he was acting," Daphne whispered to Cyrna.

"He's always nervous. Scared of his own shadow, he is," Blaise said. He sat beside Cyrna, his arm propping his head up as he yawned. "No one but a fool like Dumbledore would hire someone like him to teach."

Today was her last meeting with Snape. A week had passed, and if she remembered the schedule that Harry had shown her, the Gryffindors had Charms tomorrow. "Who knows?" Cyrna said. "Maybe he's got a sufficient reason to be nervous."

"You think?" Daphne's voice dripped with sarcasm.

She shrugged. "Just a possibility."

* * *

She knocked once before she opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she greeted with a small smile. She was excited. Today, she was going to perform the extraction. After all, she had succeeded at the end of her session yesterday. All she needed to do now was repeat the performance one more time.

"Confident today, are we?" Snape said dryly as he motioned her to the station he had set up in front of his desk.

"Not particularly sir," she said. At his blank expression that somehow oozed skepticism, she added promptly, "just cautiously hopeful. As befitting as one from your House, of course."

He arched a brow. "Careful, Ms. Raine. I may have been more lax with you in these sessions, but I will not tolerate impertinence."

Cyrna cleared her throat awkwardly. "Sorry, sir." She supposed the routine of coming down every lunch break to learn the extraction was causing her to get a bit too comfortable. But truth be told, when Snape wasn't hissing and spitting insults at everything that moved, like he did during her potions class, he was rather decent to be around. Oh, of course she got snide comments and backhanded compliments that made her question whether she had been insulted or complimented, but the vitriol that just seemed to ooze from his being whenever he saw Harry wasn't there. And while she was fully cognizant that she had the body of a child, having _any_ sort of conversation with an adult, even if they were snippy and loaded with sarcasm, was mentally freeing for her.

"I suppose I'll get started then," she said as she walked over to the station. To her surprise, Snape rose from behind his desk, and in two strides, he had swept in front of her. He towered over her. His black eyes peered coldly at her as he leaned against his desk. "Professor?" she asked nervously, unused to his attention. He was usually painting a storm of red of someone's essay when she did the extraction.

"I will be observing today. Proceed as you would usually, Ms. Raine."

Okay, well this took things to a new level of difficult, Cyrna thought with a gulp. This was reminding her eerily of the clinical examinations she had to do in her medical school. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself. She imagined herself as the person she was in her past life. Cold, detached, impersonal. It was a comfortable and familiar shell for her. One that she easily slid back into.

When she opened her eyes in the next moment, the large, glowing eyes that seemed to be filled with underlying excitement and mischief had disappeared. In their place, two pools of cold tranquil water seemed to reflect back at him. She smiled. A sweet, polite smile that didn't match the distanced expression in her eyes. "I will now begin the extraction."

Cyrna felt it. The moment the world seemed to fall away, like she was watching herself in a film. She spoke the words she wanted to say, and the figure in the scene would repeat the exact same words. The nervous tremor in her hand ceased immediately as she picked up the scalpel. It fit familiarly into her hands, and she knew that she would be successful in her endeavour today. The world around her quieted into a silent hum as she made a sharp, light slice from the tip of the spike to the base then two shallow lateral cuts on each end. Holding the blade parallel to the spike, she worked with familiar precision as she skinned the outermost orange layer. Slowly, she separated the tough orange skin from the thin creamy membrane that lay underneath it. Her hand held the blade steadily; her other hand held the top layer firmly as the blade lightly skimmed underneath it.

She was aware on some sort of level that Snape was pacing around her station slowly with his hands clasped behind him as he silently observed her. She payed him no mind, however, as she delicately removed the orange layer of the spike and placed it into the waste bin on her right. She breathed a small sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. Three different coloured bands ran along the lateral length of the spike: a green, a black, and a red. Making a cut on the green would provide the emulsion needed for the base of the Wound-cleaning potion. Cutting on the black would cause the spike to wither and die. The red was apparently dangerous—the book, seeing as it was written for children, had not specified its use. Puncturing any other part of the spike besides the band would cause the spike to release purified water.

Cyrna reached out and grabbed a small empty flask. With a quietly muttered levitation charm, she positioned the green line of the spike above the flask. A light poke with the tip of the scalpel was all that was needed to puncture the membrane. She waited till the last drop had been stored safely into the flask before she deposited the now emptied spike into the waste. Mechanically, she spelled the flask shut, and with a quick _"scourgify_ ," cleaned the scalpel.

The moment she set down the scalpel back onto the table, she registered the task as completed. The world slowly shifted back to frame, and with a few blinks, she jolted back into the present. The sudden intense coldness and detachment slipped back slowly into the safely hidden part of her mind. They would never be far from her; it was part of her personality. But in this reality, she had promised herself and Perenelle to at least make an attempt to live the second chance of life given to her.

She stared at the flask that was now filled with the emulsion before looking up to see Snape studying her with a strange expression on his face. Almost immediately, it vanished to be replaced with a scowl that lacked any sort of heat.

She couldn't help it when she saw his disgruntled look. "I guess I'll be taking the rest of the spikes back with me today, sir," she said with a teasing smile.

"A point from Slytherin. Impertinence does not become anyone," he reprimanded half-heartedly with a slight purse of the lips. The bundle of spikes flew into his outstretched hand in a show of wandless magic. "Regardless, you may take them back with you, but if I hear that any of your fellow students were injured in any way because of this, you will be held accountable."

"Of course, sir. Thank you for supervising me," Cyrna responded politely with the blankest expression she could muster. She had no desire to irritate Snape for pointless reasons. "I suppose I may be dismissed now?"

He inclined his head towards the now-opened door.

"Ms. Raine, know that you performed well today," he said finally when she was a foot out the door. He pursed his lips tighter to avoid smirking at her look of shock. "Tomorrow is the Halloween feast, but if you'd like to brew the Wound-cleaning potion instead of engaging in whatever frivolities and mischief the students get up to, then my office door will be opened for you after dinner."

He finally allowed his smirk to show once the door had slammed shut against her dumbfounded expression. Whether she came tomorrow or not was not of concern to him. After all, he had the whole year to gauge her potion-making abilities.


End file.
